Reyna grunted in pain as another contraction passed through her, stronger than the last. Beside her, Tessa made a soft soothing noise. “Och, they’re coming closer taegether. I wager ye’ll be ready tae give birth soon.”
“Och, I wish ye werenae… gods above… right.”
She wanted Blake. She hadn’t expected to go into labor so soon, still several days out from her due date. Her daughter had been born on time, exactly when the midwife predicted.
As if her thoughts had been spoken aloud, Tessa growled out “Where’s Blake? He should be here! ‘Tis his bairn she’s birthing!”
Hannah, working beside the midwife to change out water and linens, answered her. “I’ve sent a messenger lad fer him. He’s out hunting with the other lads.”
“Lairds.”
“Aye. That tae.”
“Out hunting when he should be with his wife…”
“’Tisnae his fault.” Reyna gasped her way through another contraction. “I sent him away. He didnae want tae go. I told him he could…. Argh! …bring me some game, or I’d have his bollocks and give him something tae truly fret about.”
Tessa laughed. “Ye would at that. And good fer ye. ‘Tis a woman’s right tae say what she likes in the last month or so o’ her lying in.”
Another contraction, and she couldn’t help screaming a little at the pain. She heard her daughter outside, Freya, being watched over by Kenzie. Reyna was about to ask for someone to bring her daughter and Kenzie in, so she could comfort her child, when a commotion sounded at the door.
***
Being chased out of his home by a temperamental lass wasn’t the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him, but it was close. Preston and Finlay, louts that they were, weren’t helping by snickering at him.
The two men had accompanied their wives to Sinclair Castle, so that the women might keep Reyna comfortably occupied during the last days of her lying in and had been only too glad to follow him out on a hunt after Reyna had threatened to castrate him if he didn’t stop hovering over her with concern.
That didn’t stop Preston’s muttering “Lass has got ye near whipped, lad.”
Finlay grinned agreeably at the Murray laird, with whom he’d formed a steady friendship over the past two years. “Aye. But that’s Reyna fer ye. She always was able tae bend Faither and I tae her will. Dinnae think Blake had a chance.”
Blake growled at his brother-by-marriage. “Aye, and how well dae ye stand up tae yer lass, when she was carrying yer bairn in the final months?”
“Nae at all. Which is why I’ve nae shame about teasing ye on the matter.” Finlay was far too cheerful as they rode out into the woods, hunting bows, waterskins and a satchel of food each slung across their saddles.
Preston was still chuckling when they finally found a good spot to dismount and ready themselves to track game. Blake glared at him. “Ye laugh now, Preston, but we’ll see how funny ye find it when yer lass is having yer firstborn.”
Preston smirked. “Did I nae tell ye? Kenzie’s expecting. ‘Tis early days yet, but by winter’s end I’ll have a son or daughter o’ me own. One reason she was fair set on coming tae visit yer lass afore it gets uncomfortable fer her tae ride.”
Blake smirked back. “Then ye’ll have the joy o’ a temperamental lass on yer hands soon enough.”
Preston shrugged.
Finlay snickered. “Oh, man, ye wait and see.”
Blake nodded. “Aye. Reyna’s done everything from stoking the fire when it is boiling, to opening the windows in midwinter. One moment she’ll be demanding me attention, the next she’ll be after kicking me out o’ me own bed tae steal me pillows fer her comfort. And I’m fair convinced that castle cooks are women so they willnae be startled by whatever a lady wants tae eat when she’s carrying. Being sent tae hunt is naething new.”
Finlay nodded sagely. “Tessa wasnae so demanding until her eighth month, but she couldnae stomach much beyond certain foods. Thought she was fair sick, drove me out o’ me mind with worry fer her.”
Preston looked much less smug now, and Blake grinned. After a moment, they three of them turned their attention to hunt.
Blake was stalking a herd of deer through the woods, hoping some venison would soothe his beloved wife’s temper, when the messenger found him with the message that Reyna had gone into labor. The words he used as he wheeled the horse around had likely scared the game away for a fortnight or more, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to care, not unless his love really was upset that he’d not brought home fresh meat for her.
Well, if she was, he’d send the master of the hounds to get some. Right now, he had more important concerns.
Blake shoved his way into the birthing chamber, heedless of the hissing of the midwife and the shocked exclamations of the servants at the door. He didn’t care that tradition said men were supposed to wait outside the birthing room, or that he might upset someone.
His wife was having his child. He’d not leave her side unless she chased him away as she had this morning. He still felt guilty that he’d permitted himself to leave the castle with Finlay and Preston, rather than simply finding a quiet place out of his wife’s view.
Reyna screamed again, and he went to her side, reaching out to embrace her and take her hand in his. “I’m sorry I wasnae here sooner, ey love.”
“Ye shouldnae be here now.” The midwife was practically bristling with outrage, but Tessa and his mother both exchanged knowing looks as Reyna latched onto his hand with a bruising grip.
“Leave it alone, Marina. Ye’ll nae get rid o’ him.” Hannah directed a pointed look at the hand Reyna was currently trying to crush with her own. “She’s the only one who could, and she’s not after letting him go anywhere.”
The midwife huffed but nodded. “All right, me lady, let’s see how yer doing…”
Another contraction, another scream that wrenched his guts worse than any battlefield had ever done, and a satisfied sound from the midwife. “Ye’re ready. On the next wave, push as hard as ye can.”
He could see the next wave hit his wife, even before she screamed, loud enough to hurt his ears. Her hand clenched on his with a force that would leave bruises, if not break bones. He didn’t care. He simply held her close as wave after wave passed through her.
It seemed to last forever, each contraction worse than the last, and he could see what looked to him like far too much blood, too much sweat, and too much pain. He couldn’t believe this was normal, no matter how much his mother said otherwise. His mind kept racing, and he couldn’t stop the thoughts any more than he could end Reyna’s screams.
Gods, surely our firstborn didnae take so long… oh, gods…Reyna!
Then there was one final wave that seemed to bend his wife in two. Reyna screamed like she was being torn apart and pushed. The, the wave passed and the sound of crying split the air, a thin wail that sounded like the sweetest music ever produced to his ears. The midwife straightened with a squirming, crying, red bundle in her arms and a broad smile. “Well done, me laird, me lady. A fine son fer ye, and perfectly healthy from the lungs on him.”
“Thank goodness.” Reyna went limp against him.
Blake remained where he was as the midwife helped deliver the afterbirth, and Tessa helped clean his exhausted wife up. Meanwhile, his mother helped clean the babe and wrapped him in a soft blanket. Once both mother and child were clean, she approached. “A fine lad fer ye, indeed.”
Blake watched as Reyna took the babe into her arms. Without thought, his hand reached out to stroke the tiny face, now peaceful and drowsing. Reyna’s smile widened. “He looks like ye, Blake.”
“’Tis tae soon tae tell.” Blake laughed.
Tessa approached. “He’s a bonny bairn. Have ye thought o’ a name?”
Blake nodded. “Aye.” He shared a glance with Reyna. “His name is Leith. Fer me faither.”
His mother gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth, tears in her eyes. “Blake…”
He smiled. “Me faither deserves tae be remembered. Even if I didnae always agree with him, he was a good man.”
“Aye.” His mother squeezed his shoulder.
Reyna smiled, then offered him the child. “I ken if ye came back so did Finlay and Preston. Ye might as well go show him off. I ken ye’re dying tae dae so.”
“And how could I nae be proud o’ me bonny wife and me wonderful new son?” Blake laughed as he rose and accepted the precious bundle.
Slowly, carefully, he turned away, so mesmerized by the sight of his son’s sleeping features he could scarcely breathe.
Leith. Me son.
As he walked toward the door, Blake found himself laughing in sheer happiness.
After so long, he was finally, truly, home and at peace.
He heard her stand and circle around the fire on nearly silent feet and forced himself to lay still. He wanted her to come to him, ached for her to be beside him as she had been hours before, but he wasn’t going to press the issue.
Then she leaned close, and he reached out and pulled her down, pleased when she curled against his chest instead of pulling away or trying to hit him again.
He was tempted to pretend he was still asleep, but she’d know it for a falsehood. And even if his move to bring her down to lie beside him hadn’t told her that, his rapidly swelling manhood surely would. With only the thin, makeshift kilt between them, it was impossible to hide his interest. Not that he cared to. Instead, he opened his eyes and met her earnest gaze, waiting for her to make the next move.
Her voice was whisper soft as she spoke. “Did ye truly feed and care fer me braither while he was captive?”
“Aye.” He saw no reason to try and deny it.
She bit her lip. “Why? He was an enemy o’ the laird ye’d sworn tae serve. In other circumstances, he might have hurt or even killed ye.”
“Anyone might, on the field o’ battle, and I’ve the scars o’ plenty o’ bands o’ mercenaries and bandits tae prove it. As tae why I cared fer Finlay, I couldnae free him, but I had tae give him what help I could. He’s yer braither.”
He saw tears in her eyes at the honesty of his answer and had to restrain the urge to lean forward and kiss them away. “But why would ye care?”
“Because I always cared fer ye, even when I was fool enough tae be the cause o’ yer pain. And I couldnae help but dae anything possible tae help ease any hurt ye might suffer. Me heart wouldnae allow otherwise, even if ye hated me fer it.” That too was truth, and as close to an apology as he would give her for how he’d reacted during their flight from Luke and his men.
Reyna reached up and laid one hand across his face. “I understand, and I forgive ye.”
Before he could answer her, she stretched up and pressed the full length of her body against his, then molded her lips to his and kissed him as passionately as she’d raged at him earlier. Blake grunted against her, his body stiffening as he fought to control his responses. He wanted her, oh how he wanted her, but he’d not go any faster or further than she would accept. Not even if controlling himself meant he’d need another dip in the loch.
Her hand trailed sensuously down his chest until it touched the tartan, then drifted lower, until she could cup the growing bulge underneath it. Blake bit his lip, helpless to stop the sound he made and the reaction of his body as she artlessly drove him mad with her hands alone.
She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “I forgive ye, and gods help me, but I never stopped loving ye, Blake Sinclair. And now…”
She shifted to whisper directly into his ear, her warm, sweet breath a temptation all its own, “I want tae have all o’ ye, and all the pleasure yer touch promised me last night.”
Blake groaned, his honor warring with his desire to give her exactly what she asked him for. “Reyna, lass… if we start this… I willnae be able tae stop.”
“I dinnae want ye tae.”
It was difficult to control his breathing or keep himself from crushing her to him and taking her like a barbarian right then and there. “Ye have tae be sure. It cannae be taken back, if I claim ye. Ye cannae decide ye’re too angered tae remain with me later. If ye come tae me taenight and welcome me, then ye’re mine forever.”
“That’s what I want.”
She kissed him again, then slid her hand between their two bodies once again and pressed her against his hardening manhood. She rubbed gently, and Blake felt his control evaporate like rain on a burning hearth.
With one smooth motion, he rolled them both over so that he was crouched over her, his thighs on either side of her hips and his hands to either side of her head. Even with desire singing like flames in his blood and his manhood painfully hard and begging for release and the pleasure of her body, he was careful to be gentle as he laid her back against his blankets and looked down into her glittering eyes.
Her face was open, welcoming, and her hands reached for him without hesitation. A part of him screamed to ask her again, that she couldn’t want this, couldn’t want to taint herself with the touch of a man accused of murder and betrayal, scarred inside and out. But it was a distant feeling, and Reyna in his arms was too real to ignore or deny.
He leaned down to kiss her again, hungry for the taste of her. He used one hand to support him, while his other tangled in the laces of her bodice and undid them, then dropped to the fastening of her skirt. He dragged the belt free, feeling clumsy as a boy with his first woman, then sat up.
His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Sit up, Reyna, and let me see ye.”
She did, and he drew the shirt slowly and sensually over her head. Her eyes were wide as he bared her body, and she looked suddenly shy as he took his time admiring the soft, creamy skin on display, and the way the wind teased her nipples into hardened peaks, begging for his touch and his mouth to engulf them.
“Beautiful.” Blake guided her to lie back, her shirt now serving as a makeshift pillow as he caressed her sides. She shivered as his warm hands smoothed over her belly and dropped to her hips. He wondered if it was nervousness or desire, or merely cold that made her tremble. He longed to chase fear and cold away, and lift her to the heights of desire, and forced himself to go slowly. His Reyna was a maiden, and he’d make it as pleasant as possible for her, even if the effort made him want to collapse under the strain.
Slowly he drew the skirt down, the cloth sliding over her sex and her hips, before gliding down her legs. The dim firelight glimmered on the curls that adorned her sex, and he was pleased to see they were already damp. Even uncertain and inexperienced, she was already damp and waiting for him. He wanted to lean down and taste her, as he had the night before. He wanted to lick her clean, then give her more pleasure until she was wet and gasping for him all over again.
Gods above, but she was beautiful. The most glorious thing he’d ever seen in his life. If ever a goddess came down to earth, she would look, and smell, and taste like his Reyna. The scent of her was all around him, and his lips tingled with the memory of her sweetness.
Now she was completely exposed to his gaze, and he let his eyes feast, drinking in every inch of her creamy looking skin, accented by the rose color of her lips and her breasts, and the soft, darker patch of short hair that adorned the junction of her thighs and her soft, feminine sex.
Blake set her skirt aside and stared at her, hardly daring to do more than stare, lest he frighten her or embarrass himself. She blushed, then abruptly reached out and grabbed at the length of tartan around his hips and tugged. A moment of effort and the knots came free. The cloth fell away to reveal his member, already hard and thick in the firelight. Blake nearly sighed in relief, even as the cold air on his shaft made him ache all the more.
Reyna gasped at the sight of him. Blake chuckled again as he leaned down to cover her. “Dinnae fret lass. Just trust me.”
I’ll have tae be careful with her. Ferr all her bold words and actions, she’s nae ever done this afore. I’m her first lover, and if I have aught tae say about it, her last. ‘Tis important tae let her enjoy the experience.
Her thigh was soft against his member, driving him nearly to distraction, as he lowered himself and began to kiss a slow, lazy trail from her earlobe, down the line of her neck to the hollow of her throat, before he bent lower and took one breast into his mouth, suckling and nipping until she was writhing beneath him. She tasted honey-sweet with hints of flowers and sunshine and something that was just Reyna, and he took his time in savoring each taste, and each noise she made as he teased her.
He wanted to know every sound she made when she was in the throws of pleasure. He wanted to hear every gasp, every sigh, and every cry. He wanted to feel her quiver as she screamed his name, and the sound she made when she was beyond even that, so lost in pleasure that even she couldn’t manage any words at all.
Reyna gasped when he switched his attention to her other breast, allowing the night wind to provide a chilling contrast to the heat of his mouth and the stimulation offered by his teeth and tongue scraping and licking gently over her.
His chest was pressed to her belly, the firm muscles gently pinning her in place. He felt her move against him, and it was all he could do not to raise himself up to bury the length of his member in her soft, welcoming heat.
Even so, he refused to move too quickly, no matter how his own desire and her voice begged him to.
He slid one of his hands lower, until his palm was caressing her sex, before he shifted his weight and lowered his knee gently to part her thighs. “Open yerself tae me, Reyna.”
His voice was a low, rough growl of desire and command, and he smiled as she opened her legs obediently to his touch and his gaze.
Och, Reyna, me little love. So sweet and open tae me. Gods, I dinnae deserve ye… but I’ll be sure ye have all the joy ye deserve at me hands.
He moved to balance himself between her legs, his erection pressing against the junction of her thigh, tantalizingly close to where he wanted it, and yet achingly far as well.
She shifted, trying to encourage him to enter her, clearly as desperate as he was, but he laughed and shifted low to whisper in her ear. “Nae yet, lass. I’ve waited a long time tae be with ye, and I’ll nae be rushing it fer either o’ us.”
“But… I want… Blake, I need…” her voice was a whimper of need, and he drank it in.
“I ken. Just relax.”
He kissed her again and slid one hand down slowly, tracing the shivering muscles, mapping her body with his touch and making note of every reaction, every twitch and all the little cries and gasps he didn’t think she even knew she was making.
When he reached her navel, he let his fingers scratch lightly around the indentation in her belly, teasing the soft, sensitive flesh. He wanted to dip his head and lick her there, to taste her belly, but she was already on the brink of release, and he wanted the moment to last. There would be other times for that.
His fingers carded gently through the soft, fine hairs of her sex, the short nails scratching lightly to add another level of sensation. It made her squirm and try to arch against his hand, and he bit his lip as the sight of her, writhing under his touch, made his body harden even further. She was so responsive, so open to everything he did… it made him long to feel her around him.
She’s so glorious, so generous in this… how can I fail tae offer her generosity in return? That thought was all that kept him from yielding to the fire that coursed through his veins and cried out for release.
His fingers slipped lower to stroke over the outer lips of her sex, sliding through the dampness of her arousal with a slowness that teased them both, before he gently eased one finger into her.
Reyna gasped, whimpering, as his finger slowly pressed deeper into her, and his thumb caressed the pleasure center he’d used to send her over the edge the night before. Blake held back a groan of his own with effort as he stroked his fingers inside of her, pressing deep inside her inner walls, so that his finger was sheathed in her feminine core. The walls of her channel were wet with desire, hot and tight like a tunnel of arousal-soaked velvet that he longed to explore and bury himself in.
He drew his hand out of her, and slowly licked his finger clean of her fluids, grinning at the pleading expression and the way she arched up, begging without words for his touch. “Ye taste good tae me, did ye ken that?” His hand slid back to her secret places to continue stimulating her as he bent to whisper in her ear. “Like the finest draft straight from Cerridwen’s cauldron… or the sweetest wine from Underhill…”
His hand slid deeper, stroking deep as his hand would allow, deep into her core. When she was stretched enough to be comfortable with that, he gently included a second finger to carefully ease her core open wider. Reyna cried out, pressing into his hand, her momentary discomfort at the unfamiliar sensation lost in the pleasure he was giving her.
Blake slowly but steadily stroked her open, watching her face as he changed the position of his hand slightly with every stroke, he noted what made her whimper, what made her gasp, and what made her cry out and press against him for more. Before long, she was writhing against his hand, whimpering, her back arching as she sought more pleasure and release from him.
He drew his hand back, and she actually cried out as he left her wanting, her expression open and pleading as she squirmed, looking for the stimulation that would grant her release. “Blake…”
“I ken lass.” His voice was a low, rough sound, hoarse with his own desire as he lowered himself over her and aligned his aching shaft with the lips of her sex and pressed gently against her.
Reyna gasped as she felt the pressure of his shaft against her entrance, and he hesitated a moment before he pressed inside her, not wanting to hurt her. She quivered around him, but there was no pain in her face, and when he paused, she whimpered and arched and twisted, trying to take him deeper.
His hands held her in place, keeping her from going too fast, for both their sake. For all his control, the sensation of her hot, soft walls swallowing his manhood was nearly unbearable, and it took all his control to keep from burying himself fully in her heat. The velvety sheath around him offered pleasure beyond anything he had ever experienced or imagined, and every inch was like sliding deeper into paradise.
They both felt it when the tip of his length reached the barrier of her maidenhead within her. Blake froze, shuddering as he did so. His breath was ragged, his sweat falling to sizzle against her heated skin as he bent close once more. “Last chance tae stop me, Reyna love. Once the barrier is breached, there’s nay going back.”
He half expected her to come to her senses and pull away or beg him to stop. He wasn’t sure he could. Instead, she arched into him, trying to get closer. Blake made a low sound in the back of his throat, like a groan and a growl intermingled, then bent to seal his mouth over hers as his member pressed forward and breached the thin barrier of her innocence.
His kiss swallowed her cry of pain and filled his mouth with the taste of salt and her sweetness, both shuddering. He fought to remain still, to give her time to recover.
Then Reyna whimpered against his mouth and arched up against him, pressing closer to bring him deeper within her.
Blake growled again and pressed forward, forcing himself to maintain his slow, smooth glide as he entered her fully. The pain of her maidenhead being taken couldn’t be avoided, but he was determined that she would feel only pleasure from him beyond that.
Finally, he was sheathed fully to the hilt, his groin flush against hers and his bollocks brushing her buttocks as they both breathed in time with one another.
Reyna squirmed against Blake, begging him to move. With a ragged breath, he began to do so, setting up a steady rhythm as he slid out of her and back into her, thrusting steadily and deeply.
Every thrust felt like falling into heaven as her heat and softness engulfed him to the hilt, pulling him so deep that his bollocks caressed her soft, rounded buttocks when he paused. Every withdrawal felt like a loss, begging him to plunge inside her once again.
Blake lost all track of time, of everything save her pleasure and his, the sounds of their mingled breathing and the way they rocked together in harmony, every movement perfect and wonderous beyond anything he could even dream of.
Pleasure and pressure intertwined and spiraled higher, burned hotter, to levels he’d never imagined possible. Reyna writhed around him, pressed against him, gasping with him as they both rose higher on a wave of pleasure.
He was so close. Blake could feel his release coming, the tightness in his loins that heralded his coming. Reyna was quivering, close to her own release as well.
Blake bent his head without warning and took one of her breasts in his mouth, his tongue laving the sensitive flesh before his teeth nipped her gently. As he’d intended, the unexpected sensation flung her over the edge. Reyna stiffened, inner walls clenching down around his manhood as she came undone around him.
The pressure of her velvet heat and the walls of her inner core clamping around him was enough to carry him over as well. Blake stiffened, white heat and stars filling his vision as he climaxed and his rhythm stumbled to a halt and his seed pumped deep into her body,
Her inner walls clenched around him again, and drew a harsh, guttural sound out of him. His fluids mingled with hers, and the tide of their enjoyment swept over them both and wiped away everything in a haze of pleasure.
The aftershocks and heat and light went on forever, leaving him limp and boneless in the aftermath. When he finally regained his senses, their release was cooling between them, and Reyna was cuddled against him, almost fully asleep.
The length of Murray tartan took care of the first problem. Grabbing a blanket ensured that they would be somewhat warm when they woke in the morning. Immediate needs taken care of, he laid down and wrapped his arms around her, then followed her into a sleep full of joyful dreams.
“Och, ye didnae see him. He was red-faced with temper one minute, shaking, and the next he went pale as fresh milk. Then he orders me off, and taeday he didnae come down fer breakfast.” Blake Sinclair lifted his head from the makeshift grassy pillow he’d been reclining against, and scowled at the stem of heather he was toying with. He tugged at it in a distracted manner while he tried to ignore his companion’s muffled giggles.
At fourteen summers, nearly fifteen, he’d grown several inches over the past year. He’d enjoyed the extra height, right until his voice had cracked for the first time, sending muffled laughter through everyone listening. And now Reyna Gregor – his childhood friend and the girl he’d slowly fallen in love with over the past few seasons – was laughing at him too, despite the seriousness of the situation he was trying to relate.
Finally, Reyna managed to stifle her laughter, and toppled over lazily to rest her head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry… I dinnae mean tae laugh at ye. But ye cannae think ye’re the cause fer yer faither feeling poorly. Surely ye’ve fought afore.”
“O’ course we have. But never about something like this. About foolish things, like the time I tried tae sneak intae the training yard, five summers ago.” The heather came free of the dirt, and Blake scowled at it, before reaching for another piece.
“Ye mean like the argument ye had with him about riding, after we first met? After ye lost control o’ one o’ his best horses?”
“‘Twas me first-time riding someat other than a half-grown yearling or an elderly training gelding. And I was only eight summers at the time. I did the best I could.”
“Ye let the horse out o’ the main courtyard though, and dinnae pretend it was any sort o’ accident.”
That was true. Blake grimaced. That event wasn’t one he was proud of. He’d wound up holding on for dear life as his horse raced over the moors and fields in an uncontrolled gallop. On the other hand, that wild ride had dropped him at Reyna’s feet, in every sense of the phrase. He’d fallen off right in front of where she’d been picking herbs, and the friendship that had grown from that first meeting gave his next words the ring of sincerity.
“That might be the truth, but I cannae regret it, nae matter how much o’ a scolding me faither gave me when I finally got home.” He sighed and sat up, leaving the heather stems for a handful of flowers that he had made a halfhearted effort at weaving into a flower crown before he resumed absentmindedly shredding them. “Ye’re right that we’ve had our share o’ quarrels, and mayhap I’m tae hot-headed and reckless, as he says, but this wasnae the same. He was angrier, and nae just because o’ some daft thing I did. He was saying me actions were jeopardizing the whole o’ the Sinclair clan, and nae just meself. Tae say naething o’ setting a bad example by me actions. Among other things.”
“And how was this different? What was he referring tae if he wasnae simply angered over something foolhardy ye did?”
“We were arguing about ye.” Blake felt his ears heat and avoided looking at her. “He found out I’d been sneaking out tae meet with ye, and ye ken how he feels about any sort o’ speech between our clans.”
Reyna scowled. “Aye. I ken he and me faither are nae on speaking terms since me grandfaither passed away. Though me faither willnae say what it is that caused the rift between them. All he’ll say is that Leith Sinclair insulted him and refused tae take it back.”
Blake grimaced. He’d heard something similar when he was younger, but after last night’s argument, he suspected he knew the real reason the clans were at an armed truce with each other. “Aye. He didnae ken I was meeting ye, but somehow he found out, and he was right furious. Confronted me at supper, in front o’ the entire clan, including the Elders. Said I was defying a direct order, and if I didnae stop seeing ye, there’d be consequences.”
Reyna gave him a sideways look. “And still, here ye are.”
“O’ course I am.” Blake returned her stare with an indignant one of his own, barely even noticing how his voice cracked again. “I’ll nae let any man tell me what friends tae have.” He flushed again.
“And that’s all I am tae ye?” She gave him a look that made him wince. “Just yer friend?”
“Ye ken it’s more than that. Otherwise, I wouldnae be set on defying him when he tries tae convince me tae speak tae lasses from other clans. He’s been wanting me tae secure the clan a strong alliance and has been talking marriage proposals. I said he could try tae plan a marriage and pick a lass fer me if he liked, but he might as well ken now that I’ll choose who I want tae wed, whether he agrees or nae. I’ll nae spend me life with someone I cannae care fer, especially when me heart’s given tae ye already.”
Reyna’s eyes were wide, slightly pleading as they met his. “Ye want me? Truly? Ye really care fer me enough tae defy yer faither, and mayhap mine?”
“O’ course I dae. Ye should ken that, since it’s ye I’m sitting with, and nae one else.” His father, Leith, had been adamant that Reyna Gregor’s clan was neither wealthy enough or powerful enough to be an appropriate match for the heir to the Sinclair clan, but he wasn’t going to tell Reyna that. It would be far too insulting. “I told him tae dip his head in a loch if he thought he was going tae stop me from seeing ye as I liked.” He flushed a deeper red. “I mean…”
“I kent what ye meant, ye daft idiot.” Reyna retorted. “And at least ye have a choice about it. Ye’re nae a girl.”
Her sharp tone dragged his eyes from the heather to her. “Is there something wrong, Reyna? Has someone said someat tae ye?” He’d always thought she’d be safe, given that she had a brother who was heir to the clan.
“Me faither’s talking about marrying me off tae some laird or laird’s son, as soon as he finds one he approves o’, claiming as kinfolk. I’ve seen messages with the Murray Clan seal on them, and I dinnae trust what he’s thinking in regard tae them.” She shivered. “I’ve heard word he’s looking fer a wife, but nae a woman will have him because he has a beastly temper. The fact that he’s sending letters tae me faither, despite the ill-will between them…”
“Doesnae mean a thing, save that he might be as mad as he is bad-tempered.” Blake scowled, even as he wrapped his arm around her to comfort her. “The Murray-Gregor feud’s been going on fer centuries, and it’s a blood feud tae. Yer faither would never consider giving ye away tae him, nae matter how Laird Murray tried tae convince him it was a way tae end the enmity between yer clans. He kens as well as I dae, better mayhap, that old Laird Oran’s as like tae murder ye as marry ye. And ye and I both ken he loves ye tae much tae risk it, even if Laird Murray offered him a thousand years o’ peace, most o’ their lands, and all the gold in the Murray clan coffers.” He kissed her forehead. “Besides, Clan Gregor may nae be the biggest, but yer strong enough tae stand yer ground, and yer braither’s nae a weakling. Clan Gregor will be standing strong long after Oran Murray and his temper are dust on the Highlands.”
Reyna laughed a little at his vehement declaration. “I ken that. And I’ve said as much tae me faither whenever he brings up marrying me tae another clan tae strengthen our borders, but he likes tae hear arguments from me as much as yer faither likes tae hear them from ye. I’ve told him I’m tae young as well, that if me braither isnae old enough tae be a warrior, then I’m tae young tae be a wife. He didnae like that either.” Reyna looked as if she’d swallowed a thistle.
The sight of her indignation filled Blake with mixed feelings of protectiveness, anger on her behalf, and a sense of affection. He grinned and reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Och, well, even if ye happen tae get sent off tae Clan Murray, I’ll be more than happy tae come get ye.” He smirked at the flowers and heather that Reyna had slowly been accumulating in a basket at her side. “After all what would I dae without me little witch tae offer me tinctures and tisanes and teas fer everything that might be ailing me?”
“I’m nae a witch.” Reyna huffed the words in exasperation, but she was smiling. “’Tis only medicine and herbs, like the wise women and the healers gather.”
Blake chuckled, his own mood easing. “I ken, I ken. But it willnae change the way I think o’ ye.” He dug into a pouch on his belt. “But never mind that. Ye’ve given me so many flowers and herbs, I thought it might be proper tae give ye one in return.”
“Nae that heather ye’ve been mangling, I hope?” Reyna eyed him.
Blake shook his head, and took one of her hands, pressing the object he’d fished out of his belt into her hand. “It’s nae. It’s nae a flower ye can put in a medicine, but it willnae wilt or go bad, either.”
Reyna studied the thin metal flower, suspended from a thin leather cord. “’Tis pretty. Where did ye find it?”
Blake flushed again and looked away from her bright expression. “Och, well, I had some time tae meself, and I started watching the village blacksmith. When he caught me watching, he offered tae teach me someat o’ the basics – said it was a good skill tae have, fer an emergency shoeing on the road, if naught else.”
“A horseshoe nail isnae a flower.” Her voice sounded amused.
“One thing led tae another… I have a bit o’ skill, and the blacksmith had some spare bits o’ metal lying about… and I wanted tae make ye something”
“It’s beautiful.” She lifted it and slipped the leather cord over her neck with a brilliant smile. “And I like it all the better now that I ken ye made it fer me.”
“It’s a promise, as well as a gift. I’ll dae me best tae change me faither’s mind and get his blessing. Tae court ye if I cannae convince him o’ more. I promise, I’ll make sure we’re both safe, and free tae marry as we like.”
Reyna’s eyes shone like stars as she leaned against his shoulder. “Ye give me yer word?”
“Me word as a Sinclair.”
Anything else he might have said, or any reply she might have made, was interrupted by the sound of hooves approaching rapidly. They were coming from the direction of Sinclair lands, following the same path Blake had ridden hours before.
Blake rolled to his feet, one hand on is dagger as the rider came into sight and splashed across the rill that divided their meadow from the main Sinclair lands. Reyna came to her feet beside him.
The rider came closer, and Blake relaxed a little as he recognized his cousin Hutch. “Och. Nae need tae fret. ‘Tis only me cousin.”
Hutch rode up, and Blake felt a slow, churning feeling of unease begin to creep through him. Hutch’s face was grim and pale, and his horse showed signs of hard riding. He was also carrying saddle bags, more than he could possibly have needed. “Blake. I’ve been looking everywhere fer ye. If I didnae ken ye liked tae meet yer lass here, I’d never have thought tae come this way, or this far.”
“Aye. But if ye kent that, ye might ken I wouldnae want tae be found.”
Hutch shook his head. “And I’d nae come looking, but ye’re needed back at Sinclair Castle. Yer faither collapsed.”
The temperature of the meadow seemed to fall, as if he’d been doused in icy water. “What are ye…?”
Hutch frowned. “I cannae say more than that. I only ken ye need tae come with me.”
He couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. It didn’t make sense. He’d known his father was unwell, but collapsing? Their argument couldn’t have upset him that much.
Suddenly, small hands slammed into his shoulders and shoved him toward his horse, which was grazing nearby. “Get back tae yer family, ye great lout. Ye’re needed.” Reyna stared at him with sharp eyes. She turned and darted away, toward her own horse, before he could say anything.
At least she’d managed to shock him out of his frozen state. Blake sprang after her and caught her arm. “Reyna, wait!” She swung around. “I dinnae ken what’s wrong, but…”
He took a deep breath, then bent to kiss her lightly. “Come back tae this spot, this same time taemorrow..” With another quick, chaste kiss, Blake darted away, to where Hutch was waiting impatiently.
Blake swung into the saddle of his own horse. He waited just long enough to see Reyna’s bay mare disappear on the far side of the meadow before he turned away and nudged it into a trot beside his cousin. “Does the healer have any idea what happened? Is Faither ill? Will he be getting better? When?”
“He willnae be getting better.” Hutch waited until they’d entered a stand of trees by the road, then abruptly nudged his horse forward, and swung it around to block Blake’s.
Blake pulled his horse to a stop in surprise. “What are ye saying?”
Hutch shook his head. “I didnae want tae say anything in front o’ the lass, but yer faither didnae just collapse. He’s dead. By the time the maid found him, it was tae late. He’d passed on.”
Blake reeled in the saddle. “Me faither’s dead…”
“Aye, and I wish that were all o’ it. Or even the first o’ it.” Hutch reached out to grab his arm. “I’m sorry, Blake, but the healer said he’d been poisoned. And mayhap the last dose wasnae the first.”
The cold feeling came back, fierce and sharp like ice in his gut and his bowels. “Poisoned? With what?”
“I didnae stay around long enough tae hear. Blake… I… I wish I didnae have tae be the one tae tell ye this, but…” Hutch’s face twisted. “Och, cousin, I’m truly sorry, but the truth o’ the matter is, they’re after thinking ye were the one that poisoned him.”
The ice turned into a sword, lancing through his heart, and for a moment he could hear nothing save a roaring storm in his ears. He forced it back and held onto the saddle and reins with hands that were white-knuckled from the strain. “What? Ye cannae be serious.”
“I wish I werenae. But there’s the truth o’ it. After yer fight last night, there’s folk saying ye were angered with his refusal tae let ye see yer lass, and tired o’ being the heir instead o’ the laird. They’re saying ye were hoping nae one would realize. I’ve even heard folk saying they’re surprised it didnae happen sooner, the way ye’ve always seemed tae be close one moment and fighting the next. And since ye’ve nae been seen since this morn, there’s folk saying ye always planned on being away and pretending tae ken naething o’ the matter, or worse, that ye’re a coward who decided tae flee afore ye had tae face justice.”
Breakfast and lunch both threatened to reappear. Blake swallowed hard. “I have tae go back, tae explain tae the Elders, tae yer faither… I have tae tell them the truth.”
Hutch shook him once, then twice. “Think, Blake. What proof have ye o’ yer claims? Ye’re kent tae spend time with a girl who’s always after mixing teas and the like. Ye were fighting with the laird last night, and ye nearly came tae blows with the man. And ye’re the heir. With yer faither passed away, ‘tis down tae ye and me faither tae tae’ the mantle o’ the laird. And ye can guess what me faither thinks about the whole matter. His temper’s up, and he’s fair out fer blood. Ye really think it willnae be yers, with the way things look right now?”
His own uncle thought he’d killed his father. He swallowed hard. “What o’ me maither?”
Hutch shook his head. “Dinnae ken. So far as I heard, she’s tae far in shock and mourning tae speak one way or the other.”
He didn’t want to believe anyone could think such things of him. And yet, he had argued with his father in full view of the clan the night before. And anyone who knew Reyna would know she had an interest in herbs of all kinds. It was also no secret that her father and his had argued and had a hostile truce that was just short of feuding. Or that his father disapproved of his relationship with Reyna.
With a sick, sinking feeling, Blake realized what Hutch had truly come out to tell him. The clan believed he’d murdered his own father. Not only that, they thought he’d killed his own laird. If he went home, he’d face the Clan Elders, and his uncle, with little or no way to convince them of his innocence. After all, they could say he’d left the castle that morning to try and avoid suspicion by being elsewhere.
Kin-killing was a crime that carried a sentence of banishment, at best, unless the person who died was known to be a danger to the clan or close family. Killing a laird though, was something that could see you put to the sword unless the laird was a proven problem for the clan, or he was killed in a feud or an honor duel. Poisoning though, would be considered dishonorable and cowardly, even in the best of circumstances.
Putting all those together… Blake felt his stomach lurch and he came perilously close to throwing up again. “If I go back, they’ll put me tae death. With nay proof I didnae dae it, they’ll find me guilty likely as nae, and nae even the Fair Folk could keep me head attached tae me neck. I’m nae even sure an act o’ God could dae it.”
“I ken. And I’m sorry fer ye. I believe ye’re innocent, Blake, but one lad’s word willnae count fer much. Especially since I came tae find ye and warn ye, instead o’ telling the clan guards where I thought ye were.” Hutch dismounted and went to rummage behind a tree. He emerged with extra packs that bulged with clothing, a heavy-looking purse, and Blake’s weapons.
Blake shuddered, and tried to think as he took the things Hutch handed to him and set them in their proper places with practiced precision. “What dae I dae?” He suddenly felt much younger than his fourteen years. “What can I dae?”
Hutch reached up and tugged free two of the saddle packs slung across his horse’s hindquarters. He passed them over, and Blake took them with shaking hands. He tried to stop the tremors passing through him, but he could barely breathe, let alone exert any sort of control over his limbs.
Hutch’s next words fell like blows from a warrior in the training yard. “Ye need tae leave. Go somewhere, anywhere but back tae Sinclair Castle. Write me when ye find a place, and I’ll stay in touch with ye. I’ll look fer proof that ye didnae dae this, and once I’ve found it, ye can come home again.”
His choices were to be executed or banished, and that was no choice at all. Dead, he’d never get a chance to prove his innocence, or regain his honor.
If proof were easy tae find, they’d nae think I was the killer in the first place. And Hutch isnae much older than me. He won’t be able tae dae much or stand up against the elders. It might be years afore I can come home. And even then, it willnae be the same. Me faither is dead.
He wanted to curl up and cry until he had no more tears left. He wanted to throw up more than he had when he’d snuck a bottle of his father’s mead during the Harvest fest the year before.
Neither of those were options. Hutch was right. He needed to get far away from the Sinclair clan, before someone else came after him. The next member of the clan who found him might not be as sympathetic as Hutch.
He swallowed hard and forced his emotions down. “Ye’re right. I need tae be gone. And the sooner I take tae the road, the farther gone I’ll be when the rest o’ the clan comes looking fer me.” He hesitated. “Will ye tell me maither, please, that it’s nae true? Tell her… convince her if ye can, that I didnae kill me faither? And tell her I’ll come back as soon as I can prove the truth o’ it.”
“Ye ken I will.” Hutch nodded. “And I’ll look after her like me own.”
He gave Hutch a quick, hard clasp of the arm, which his cousin returned. “Thank ye fer that, and fer coming tae find me, fer believing in me, and fer helping me get tae safety.”
“Ye’re welcome. Be safe, cousin.” After a last, lingering look, Hutch released him and turned his horse back toward Sinclair Castle.
Blake watched until his cousin was out of sight, then resolutely turned his own horse in the opposite direction. As much as it broke his heart, he couldn’t afford to linger.
And he couldn’t take the chance of going to see Reyna, not even to tell her what had happened. Not even to keep his word. Someone would surely look for him there, and it would be worse for the both of them if he was anywhere within the Gregor lands when they came looking.
Blake gave a soft, bitter laugh. How ironic that he’d given his word as a Sinclair to come back for her. He was no longer a Sinclair and did not even have the meager satisfaction of being able to keep the last promise he had made as a member of his birth clan.
He was on his own, with nothing save his grief and his regrets to follow him into exile.
Chapter One
Springtime, 1450
Ten years later
Reyna Gregor stared at the meadow, one hand tangled in the worn leather cord about her neck as she watched the heather sway in the light spring breeze that danced through the moorland grasses. For years, this place had been her refuge, and a place where she’d made some of her happiest memories. After today, she might never see it again.
When Blake had disappeared, and they’d received word that he’d been exiled, she’d come to the meadow every day for a year, until she could no longer ignore the bitter truth. Blake Sinclair was gone, in every sense of the word, and he would never come back.
Her hand tensed around the flower. The cord dug into her neck as she tugged. She imagined the cord breaking, imagined the frayed strands and the weathered metal flower flying through the air to disappear forever among the heather.
“Reyna. There ye are.”
Reyna stuffed the necklace under top of her dress, dropped her hand, and turned to see her sister-by-marriage, Tessa, wading through the long, thick grass. Tessa’s movement was somewhat hampered by the soft rounding of her belly, evidence of the child she carried within. For a moment, she was tempted to reach out and help Tessa to her side, but she knew from experience that her brother’s wife was an independent woman. Instead, she settled for a worried look. “Should ye be riding in yer condition?”
Tessa made her way to Reyna’s side with a heavy grace that Reyna envied. “I’m well enough. ‘Tis early days yet, and the healer says the babe and I are fair healthy enough.”
Tessa’s gaze drifted over the meadow. “I was wondering where ye might have gone. I should have kent ye’d be here, though I dinnae ken why, as ye left yer herb-gathering basket at home. I thought ye’d stopped coming here years ago.”
“I ken. But I only wanted tae come tae enjoy the peace, afore I have tae leave fer Murray Keep.”
Tessa nodded. “I understand. Though I dae wish ye’d choose a meadow closer tae the castle tae find yer peace.”
Reyna offered her sister-by-marriage an apologetic smile. “Aye. I ken full well ye’re nae the only one who’s exasperated by me habit o’ coming out here. But…” She trailed off.
“But it’s where yer memories o’ Blake Sinclair are, and ye have the same questions I dae about what happened tae the lad.”
Reyna nodded, glad Tessa understood. She’d tried to explain her feelings more than once to her brother and her father. Neither of them had ever listened. Not since the message from Clan Sinclair saying that the former laird was dead, his son had abandoned the clan and been declared an exile for his shameful behavior. That was all she’d been told, and all she’d ever been able to learn. Even after ten years, she still had no idea why Blake had been exiled, or how his father had died.
She had no idea where Blake had gone. And even less idea why he had never come to see her, never even sent word about what had happened. She’d sent a request for more information to the cousin who’d come to the meadow the last day she’d seen him, but she’d never received a response.
And now, it no longer mattered. In a few short hours, she’d be on her way to her new betrothed. She’d never have another chance to find out what had happened to the boy she’d once admired. The boy she loved.
“Reyna?” Tessa’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Sorry. I’m coming.” Reyna turned away from the meadow. “I was just saying farewell tae some old memories. The last o’ me childhood, I suppose.”
Tessa’s expression turned regretful, and her arm curled around to cradle the swell of her belly. “I’m fair sorry, Reyna… I ken ye never wanted tae marry someone like Laird Oran Murray.”
“I didnae. And I dinnae even still. But it doesnae matter, does it? I’ve kent since I was a child that he was after marriage tae get himself an heir, since he has nay sons. I just didnae think he’d ever be daft enough tae try and claim me hand, with the feud between our clans, or that he’d stoop tae such cowardly measures tae get what he wants.”
To her surprise and regret, she saw tears beginning to slide down Tessa’s face. She hurried to wrap an arm around her sister-by-marriage to offer her comfort. “Dinnae fret. I’ll be well enough, and I’ve had plenty o’ time tae come tae terms with it. Besides, I’d dae fair worse than get married tae a man I dinnae love tae see Finlay back at me faither’s side, and yers.”
She reached out and laid a gentle hand above Tessa’s. The child was too small yet to move much, but Reyna imagined she could sense the life growing inside her brother’s wife anyway. “Yer bairn needs a faither, ye need yer husband, and me faither needs his heir. ‘Tis well worth a wedding, even tae Laird Oran Murray, tae get him back.”
Nearly a season ago, Oran Murray’s men had ambushed and kidnapped her brother and taken him hostage. With her father’s only heir in his dungeon, Laird Murray had informed her father that he’d only trade Finlay for the chance of an heir of his own, and a marriage alliance to bring an end to the feud between the clans.
Tessa’s brow furrowed, then she spat out a curse that would have made some of the soldiers Reyna knew flush to hear. “Laird Oran Murray’s a craven, cowardly, dishonorable wretch o’ a man, too foul and twisted tae even be called a bastard. And I hate that he managed tae take Finlay prisoner tae force yer faither tae agree tae this.”
Reyna laughed, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Tessa’s anger was coming from more than missing her husband and worrying over her bairn. She took a deep breath. “Laird Oran’s man has arrived?”
Tessa nodded, her expression going soft with regret. “Aye. Arrived just afore I came tae get ye.”
“Then ‘tis best tae nae keep the man waiting.” Reyna helped Tessa into the saddle of her horse, then swung up into the seat of her own. Her bags were already packed and waiting back at Gregor Keep. No doubt her father would have them in the front hall and prepared for loading onto the horses.
She could only hope that whoever Laird Murray had sent to collect her wasn’t too much of a brute.
“Aaaaaaaahhhhh!” His wife’s scream rent the air. Duncan’s chest tore to pieces. His vision blurred and he pushed the women stopping him aside. The door was jammed open with his shoulder and he shoved his way inside. On a bed, surrounded by his mother, sister and two women, was his wife. She was covered in cold sweat, hair scattered all over the pillow. Her face was red from screaming, her eyes wide and wet. She thrashed around, yelling for death.
Duncan rushed to her. He knelt by the bed and took the hand grinding into the sheets. “It hurts! It hurts! Make it stop!” She cried. Duncan would have cried, but he needed to be strong.
“Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!”
Duncan bit into his mouth. “I’m going to die! I’m dying! Help me!”
Her fingernails dug into the back of hands, drawing blood. Duncan ignored the pain shooting through him. “Maither! What can be done? It has gone on fer too long!” Lady Fiona was not her usual self either. No one in the room was. Her hair had come loose, she was drowning in the same sweat.
It was the sixth hour since the first strokes of pain had begun. Lady Fiona raised the slim dress Grace wore and peered between her legs. Duncan looked at his mother, hoping this would be it.
“Be strong, child. It will be over soon.”
She looked as if she did not believe her own words. “’Tis okay, ‘tis okay…” Duncan repeated to his wife.
“It’s not!” she exploded. “Why in the hell did you get me pregnant…Ooooohhh.” Duncan asked himself that very question. Solemnly swearing silently that this would be first and last time Grace would suffer this pain. Another loud scream rippled in the room. Duncan bit his mouth deeper. He wanted to go closer to his mother, ask if this was normal. He could not afford to lose Grace.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… oh gods I’m dying!”
“Nae, nae honey. Dinnae say that.” The seventh hour came and slipped by. Lady Fiona’s frown deepened. She paced the room, sending encouraging words to Grace occasionally.
Eight.
Ninth hour.
Grace rambled unspeakable cusses, while clutching his hand. Her belly throbbed, with the child kicking it left and right. Duncan could not imagine the level of pain she was suffering. The agony made him want to rip his own skin out.
“Go, get out! I don’t want to see you.”
She shouted this repeatedly, until the women tried to show him out. She bellowed his name and asked why he wanted to abandon her. He’d not moved a step from her bed. Tenth hour. His mother smiled. There was a glimmer of hope. She nodded at Grace, “Just a little while, dear.”
His wife panted, heaving her chest up and down. “Ye ken why I called meself Jo?” she rasped on one of the mysterious breaks. When the pain seemed to disappear for several seconds. She looked at him now with a glimpse of her former self.
Duncan wanted to climb onto the bed and hold her. Only he’d been warned against it. He almost blurted that all he cared for now, was for her life and nothing more. She fostered a weak smile. “John. Me faither’s name.”
“Aye, me love. I understand.”
“He would have…” her chin trembled. “He would have been the best grandfather.”
Duncan nodded, patting her hand.
“Dae ye think Harris will make it in time?”
“He promised. He will be here.”
“Duncan, go now. Eat and rest. Ye seem tired.”
Duncan fingers seized mid-stroke. He stared at her, incredulous. “Ye’re banned from worryin’ about me n.”
“I-” her face twisted, a herald to the next bout of incoming pain. Duncan ignored their warning and got on the bed. He placed her head on his thighs, holding her hands, Duncan’s heart thundered through her screams. She wriggled on the bed as though she lay on a pile of coal and needles.
Eleventh.
Twelfth.
Thirteen hour.
From the lone window, Duncan spied rays of the sun gushing through the gaps in the curtains. “Sheena, ye should go,” Duncan told his sister. She shook her head resolutely.
“Nae.” She sat at the edge of the bed, massaging Grace’s legs, one after the other as she’d been doing for most of the night.
“He’s r-right…” Grace stammered. “Ye need rest, if nae fer yerself, fer the baby.”
Sheena rubbed her palm across the developing bump on her belly. “I’m certain he wants to be here, welcoming his cousin.”
“He?” Grace asked. Duncan took a wet cloth from a bowl beside the bed and dried her fore head gently.
“Aye, he. Me dreams come true, ye ken.”
“Please dream of his cousin coming out of me belly.”
Sheena forced a laugh because Grace had fallen silent. The telltale tremors had begun at the tips of her toes. Lady Fiona commanded, “hold her legs apart.”
One of the women and Sheena did as she’d asked. At the seventeenth hour, Lady Fiona examined Grace once more. This time, she gave a full-blown smile. She signaled the other women. Grace rasped. “Now?”
Duncan’s chest did wonderful things. His wife would not need to suffer the pains anymore and he would soon meet his child.
Duncan shifted to kneel on the floor and absolutely refused to imagine the worst. til Grace started to push. This time, his face was covered in tears. He held her hands, all sorts of encouragement sailing past his lips.
Yet, he could hardly bear to see her pain. Just when Duncan though he would lose it all, his mother popped her head up, “One more, love. Just one more.”
Grace heaved a great breath, raised her head and pushed with all her might. At first, there was only silence in the room. Slowly, his mother emerged from between Grace’s legs.
“Blanket!” she called in a shaky voice. “’Tis a boy!”
Then the small, bloody bundle in her arms wailed. “Tis a boy!” Duncan cried, hugging his wife delicately. “Ye did it, ye did it, me love. I love ye, thank ye… thank ye!”
The new parents laughed and cried together, neither remembering to hold their baby yet. It was in that moment of jubilation that his mother returned. “Okay, this one should be easier.”
Grace froze. “W-what is she sayin’”
“One more on the way, me child. Ye did well afore, dae it once more.”
Grace raised panicked eyes turned to Duncan. He tried hard not to show his fear and ultimately failed. The best he could do was hold her hand again. When she roared their second son into the world, he was there with her. His wail was instantaneous. Little arms kicking into the air, protesting the whole injustice of leaving his mother’s womb.
The birthing chamber, outside and beyond the castle erupted in thunderous cheers. The people finally let out their breath at the birth of the laird’s sons.
Duncan held his wife and waited for a few minutes. While the women cared for his wife, they brought the babies to them. One was placed in each of Grace’s arms. “Me beautiful, gorgeous wife. Thank ye, ye made two miracles fer us, they’re just… just like ye. Thank ye for holdin’ on.” he was rambling and didn’t care. His kisses landed on three cheeks, one after the other.
“Congratulations, Gracie,” Sheena cried, hugging her. Then his mother, and the other two women.
“I’m a grandmaither now…” Lady Fiona repeated, cleaning her cheeks with the back of her hands.
Duncan’s arms weighed heavier than his body. He was scared to carry the babies, he would certainly drop them. Grace, like she read his thoughts, held the one with a shocking mop of red hair up to him. Fearfully, Duncan sat and she placed him in his arms.
“Fergus, meet yer faither,” she said.
“Oh,” Lady Fiona gasped, then fresh tears of happiness poured down her cheeks. Grace lifted her second son, who had not stopped crying since he was born. Brown-haired and blue-eyed and absolutely annoyed with the world. “And you must be commander John Dankworth. Bit of a mouthful so I’ll call you, John.”
Duncan would have given her the world in that moment if she had asked for it. His heart was blooming with irrepressible joy. Duncan gingerly kissed his wife. “I love ye, Grace Hay.”
Through her sweat and tiredness, she mustered, “And I love you.” Shortly after, Duncan chased everyone from the room, including his new children, while his wife went into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Duncan deepened the kiss, hoping that with her hands on his chest, she could feel the hammering of his heart. His sincerity.
“Please dinnae leave,” he muttered.
Her face relaxed, a wispy smile curling that beautiful mouth. But a moment later, her expression turned sad . “How can ye ask that of me?” she muttered on his lips. “Ye are engaged tae someone else.”
Duncan shook his head, words crashing from his lips like an unrelenting wave. He had to make her understand. She was vital to him.
“Me faither is ill. ‘Tis why this is delicate, and why I need yer time. This engagement came as a surprise an’ I couldnae immediately refuse, because our faither’s are close friends and they are our allies. We are in the middle of a war and I have a responsibility toward the clan, not just me family. Once I have found a way that will suit both clans, I will make it right by ye. Please tell me ye understand. Ye’re nae taken fer granted an’ this isnae an afterthought.”
Duncan watched a myriad of emotions flit past her face. That alone, gave him some hope. If she did not want him entirely, she would not need time to consider it. Still, his nerves were in painful knots, as he waited for her response. He could not push her. He-
She reached up and kissed him. Duncan was stunned. The flavors from her mouth, imploded inside him, igniting a heat he’d kept restrained for so long. He groaned deep in his throat, then slipped his arms around her waist. Duncan explored every inch of her mouth, trailing his tongue along a pointy little tooth she had.
Her body juddered against his, soft where he was hard. He drowned in the feel of her breasts rising and falling on his chest as she panted her need. He wanted to hear how she sounded. He had to know if she missed this contact the way he did.
“Tell me ye missed as much as I did.”
She gave a tiny laugh, “I didnae.”
Duncan chuckled. He sucked the corner of her lips, sinking in his teeth into the plushness. She gasped and he thrust his tongue inside again. “Sure,” Duncan said.
She made this small sound in her throat, a cry for his touch. “I dinnae think about ye,” she rasped.
“Aye,” Duncan concurred with a groan. He was fired up by her slightly husky voice. He lifted her off the ground, and she wrapped her legs around him, bringing the heat of her center to his abdomen. She touched his neck and his face, her fingers fluttering down, like she couldn’t get enough. Duncan jolted, and she kissed him with a frenzied desperation that fueled him.
Gently, he placed her on the bed and braced his hands on either sides of her, between her legs. He looked down at her. His throat tightened from the vision before him. Her deep brown eyes encased by lustrous lashes gazed back at him. Rosy lips softened by his kisses, beckoned to him.
“So beautiful,” he muttered.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to her jaw, her neck, the swell of her cleavage. Duncan looked at the woman, wondering how he could ever let her go. He could never let her go.
He took her lips gently, pouring the love suffusing his heart into it. She moaned his name softly, her fingers digging into his hair. Duncan wanted to see her shatter before him, just as she had in the camp. He would have never guessed that the lass possessed such passionate fire.
He kissed down her chest, breezed past that full cleavage. She’d been with no one else, he had to respect that. He would satisfy her and stop. He lifted her skirts, running his lips down her thighs. He stopped at her knees, and kissed the soft underside.
Her legs trembled and he smiled, “I see ye remember.”
Their night in the camp.
His mouth dried as he thought of it. Back then, he’d not seen her fully without clothes. His erection jerked at the image.
She moved her legs and Duncan threw caution to the winds. He massaged downwards, past her calves then under her feet. She uttered a long, sweet moan of relief. He repeated the move, knowing that it relieved her tension and watched her.
She hid her face behind her arm.
“I want tae see yer eyes darken from me touch. I want tae see ye, all of ye.”
“I thought ye’d ne’er ask,” she replied in a sultry tone.
Duncan had to control his hands, as he drew on the rope around her blouse. He really enjoyed hearing her speak in that manner.
Her breasts were well-rounded, full and bounced softly when he touched them. He took one hardened nipple in his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. She tugged on his shirt with shaking hands. Duncan wanted to stop her. If she touched him, he wasn’t sure he could continue to restrain himself.
Her fingers flicked along his hot skin and he quickly reconsidered. He could do it, he could feel her skin on his and he would not seek anything further.
He undressed her completely, and watched her eyes go round with appreciation as they took in his appearance.
Her waist was small, yet opened wider to deliciously curved hips. Leaning down, he grabbed those hips but she sat up and took his nipple in her mouth. Decadent pleasure raged in him as her soft mouth worked, her other finger, kneading his second nipple.
Grunting, Duncan took a fistful of her hair, jerking her head up. He devoured her lips, possessing her in the one way he could. That kiss embodied the fact that he could not thrust the raging manhood into her to ease his fire.
It was far from enough. Nearly out of his mind, Duncan brought Jo to her knees on the bed. Swiftly, he inserted his member between her legs, right on the moist part of her.
He thrust back and forth, aching to be inside her. Her cries, her hands on his body worsened his need. Duncan had often prided himself on his control. Tonight, it seemed to have fled. He grasped her breast, flicking his thumbs over the nubs.
Jo moved her hips on him, sliding in and out. He was a finished man. Teeth on edge, Duncan allowed her to ride it out. When he was about to release, he lowered her to the bed, afraid that he would scare her.
“Ye want this,” his voice was barely above a whisper.
“Aye, I dae.”
She brought him closer by nudging her legs on his back. Duncan’s member shuddered from the contact with her soft skin. He had to shift back a little, gather himself. She wanted him, but he did not want to hurt her.
His erection faced the bed now, as he kissed her softly. He trailed his fingers down her body, finding heat below. His entire body jerked as she cried out. She slid around his fingers, so seductive and sweet.
“Nice and wet,” Duncan grunted. He thrust that finger into her and she bucked.
So goddamn wet he could only imagine what she’d feel like inside. How she’d fit snugly around him. He pleasured her center, stroking in and out, his thumb working on that pleasure nerve. He reveled in the sounds she made, how she wriggled on the bed.
She gripped the sheets, yanking them up as she thrashed harder. Duncan applied pressure on that singular point, letting her control the waves as they hit her. Her mouth opened, letting out his name in a moaning tone. Her breathing was choppy and heavy, her face rosy with the color of her climax.
“Ye’re magnificent when ye come,” he rasped.
He smiled and withdrew his fingers. He shared her juices between their lips and asked, “want tae see how good ye taste?”
His words shocked her eyes open. “Duncan!” She sucked on his fingers. then pushed him aside. Jo straddled him, opening her wet center on him. Duncan groaned, simply unable push her off though he knew he should. It was too dangerous like this. She reached downwards and stroked herself and Duncan’s eyes blurred. He covered her breasts with his palms, praying for all the restraint he needed.
She shocked him.
Grace knelt between his legs and held his manhood in her slim, soft hands. In them, it felt as though he was extremely massive. He found the sight titillating as his hips bucked off the bed.
“Ye dinnae have tae…” he muttered halfheartedly, attempting to drag her up.
She dodged his touch and swooped down on his manhood, taking as much of his length as she could.
“Gods! That feels good!” he groaned.
She flicked her tongue around the head, caressing with his balls with her other hand. She lowered her head until her eyes started to water and emitted a soft cough. Alarmed, Duncan fought out of his immense sensual haze, “stop, stop…” he said in a voice unrecognizable to him.
She would not listen. Having learned her limit, Jo proceeded to go up and down on him, stopping just short of where her hand grasped him. Sparks shot off in his body.
“Damn… Jo, that…” he mumbled, gathering the sheets in his hands. Her mouth was wet on him, making sloshing sounds as she moved. He was about to lose control.
“I have tae be inside ye. Now.”
He flipped her back on the bed, and readied to thrust his aching member in her. He met that resistance again. It was the perfect reminder. His head blared with the alarm of what he was about to do. “Damn it,” he cussed. “I cannae.”
“Try again,” she said in a strong voice, widening her legs.
He wanted to take some of the pain or at least distract her. He wanted to kneel and thank her. He kissed her gently, muttering, “Dinnae be scared, I willnae hurt ye.”
Muscles on his body grew tight from holding back as he pushed in just the tip. He had barely settled when Jo grabbed his shoulders and bucked her hips.
“Aaah!” she cried.
Duncan froze inside her. Veins throbbed out of control in him. He wanted so much to be gentle. But all his senses were directed at the area of their joining. She was so hot, and fit him to intense perfection.
But she was gritting her teeth. He hurried to slide out but Jo held him in with her legs. “So good…” He thrust in again, embedding himself fully. He could feel every throb inside and outside of her body.
She was his, in every sense that mattered. Gently, his strokes went in and almost out of her. He was afraid of aggravating her pain. He looked down at her face, cradling her cheek with one hand and supporting his weight with another.
Their eyes locked and she leaned into his touch. His heart bloomed with waves of love as he stared down at her. “Are ye hurtin’?”
“Actually, ye’re too slow.”
Duncan chuckled. His fiery princess would say that. He did not want to part with her, so he turned her around carefully, placed a pillow under her waist. He pounded her from the back. Each time, she nudged back her hips, meeting his crazed thrusts with hers.
He sought downwards and stroked her with his fingers, while his member rushed in and out. Soon, Duncan could not control the pace. It was as though a demon had overtaken his hips. His groin slapped against her round buttocks, the sounds of their joining rising higher and higher.
In that second, Jo’s climax rocked her. She arched her back into him, fueling his rampant lust. She twisted around with glazed eyes and puckered her lips. Duncan kissed her and started to move again.
“I dinnae want this tae end,” he rasped.
“Then we’ll dae it again,” she muttered hoarsely.
The words unlocked a beastly part of Duncan. He stopped kissing her, placed his palms on her hips and rotated his member in her. Her warmth, cries and wetness finally drove him off the cliff. He jerked himself out of her and came all over her thighs and the bed.
When he married her, he would pour all of his seed in her. Their children would be conceived under their wedded bliss. His breathing was erratic as he waited for stars to stop glinting across his vision.
He dragged her to him and said, “Ye were talkin’ about doin’ this again.”
Her smaller frame hugged him, laughing, “I doubt if ye can.”
“I’ve created a monster,” Duncan grumbled.
“Havin’ regrets already?” she asked in a soft, fearful voice.
“Never,” Duncan was quick to promise. “Ye are the best thing that has ever happened tae me.”
He felt her smile against his chest. He held her in that position, reveling in her scents. About twenty minutes later, Jo nudged his member with her knee. Duncan became alert again. She rubbed against him like a hungry cat. It was a good that thing that he had an inexhaustible appetite.
“Caelan!” Duncan roared at the sight of his friend’s body hitting the ground. Storming forward, his broadsword carved a path through the English soldiers bearing down on him. He itched, more than anything, to reach the gloating commander. He stood over the body of Caelan, not only his ally but one of Clan Campbell’s greatest warriors. Now his blood tainted the earth.
Around them, several bodies gave up the fight and hugged the ground, bearing different fatal wounds. Screams of varying degrees pierced the air. Caelan’s chest trembled to produce his last breath.
“Move!” Duncan bellowed at a fellow warrior who lurched to block his path in order to protect his friend. Seeing the blistering fury in Duncan’s charcoal eyes, he fled.
As all wars, this war filled Duncan with anger. Ironically, it started in a pursuit of peace and the restoration of King James. His sword had become an extension of his hands since the start of the Jacobite Rebellion. Blaedy greedy English. If only they would stick to their lands. But no, they had to invade Clan Campbell’s lands. They were Clan Hay’s biggest allies and there was no way Duncan, the heir of Laird Hay himself, would stand by and watch their massacre. He would rather die than let the English scum encroach on what was rightfully theirs. Today, it was Clan Campbell, tomorrow it might be his own.
He arrived at the clearing, where only two soldiers stood, with Caelan’s twitching body at their feet. With the English commander in his sight, Duncan slashed his sword e, eliminating the man’s last protection. Just as he prepared to cover the space between them, another Englishman, pierced a sword into the commander’s back.
Absolute shock washed over the man’s paling face as blood spurted from his mouth. Duncan glanced left and right, but there was no one else to witness the atrocity. Frozen in disbelief, he watched the commander fall to one knee. With effort, the wounded man turned to see the grinning face of his attacker, who laughed in his face. Duncan blinked to be certain that the other attacker was indeed part of the English troops. His gaze fell on what was sticking out of the commander’s back. It was a sgian dubh, and its handle bore a distinct lion’s head crest.
Distaste, bitter as bile, rose within Duncan’s mouth. If there was one thing he despised more than the English, it was disloyalty. Briefly, he contemplated running after the worm who’d just murdered his commander. It would be a way to avenge Caelan’s death too. But as he took the first step, a hand gripped the tail of his kilt. Duncan peered down at the man he’d planned to kill just a few minutes prior. The one who’d murdered his comrade. Unreasonable pity suffused his heart. They had collided in a few battles and, despite being English, Dankworth was a man who fought with honor. Duncan had seen the travesty brought to some clans by the English, women and children left destitute. When this commander was involved, there was nothing of the sort. If his men acted beyond his wishes, they were considered war criminals and executed for harming civilians. The man did not deserve such a pitiful end.
As though he’d applied the last of his strength in drawing Duncan’s attention, his grip loosened, and he started to fall back. Duncan rushed to catch him before he hit the ground. Commander’s bloodshot eyes roved wildly, his mouth opening and closing. The words he was attempting to form got lost in the blood rushing down his jaw.
“’Tis all over now,” Duncan said in gruff tones. He swept his helmet off his head, shaking loose his ginger curls. It was his last respect to the honorable soldier. “Rest.” Duncan’s chest twisted with hate and pity.
The man shook his head and for just a second, something blazed in his eyes. Duncan decided to quit being the fool. He was the enemy. His betrayal by his fellow soldier was a problem in their ranks, not Duncan’s. Still, he couldn’t get his hands to release their hold on his shoulders. Nor could he tear his gaze away from the agony reflected in his suffering face.
Commander John’s lips moved faster, so that Duncan had to abandon his prickling conscience and lean closer.
“G…G…” he sputtered.
“Aye, good night,” Duncan completed though it was high noon.
“Gr…Grace…” the man spat, determination warring with his fading expression.
I dinnae think ye deserve grace, Duncan bit his inner lip from saying the words out loud. Instead, he nodded, bring his ear even closer to the weak lips. “Aye, grace.”
“Danger… help. Please.”
A whoosh of air blasted Duncan’s cheek and he knew, the commander had just exhaled for the last time. A cry rose from his left. He looked to see a hurdle of English soldiers, rushing to his side. In a last gesture of kindness and respect to another fighter, Duncan pressed his hands across the man’s open eyes, wishing him peace. He grabbed the hilt of his broadsword.
However, the commander’s weak grasp tugged at Duncan’s leg once more. But there was no time. Although the soldiers were upon him, his wound was severe. He would not survive it.
“Commander!” One of the men screamed, brandishing his weapon at Duncan. His cry was echoed by the others. “You killed him! You fucking brute!” Looking left and right, Duncan realized that he was indeed alone at this clearing. His comrades were in the thick of the battle. He took several steps back, held up his sword and widened his stance.
Aye, tis a war, Duncan thought, flashing an arrogant, come-hither grin at him. Still, it was dishonorable at best to claim a victory he didn’t earn.
He struck down the closest soldier, and two others in quick succession. “Him? nae!” None of them listened, as he’d expected. “However, I willnae hesitate to end ye all!” The old man’s dying words fled Duncan’s mind as he braved each attack with the anger exploding at his core.
Duncan fought his way out of their midst and rejoined with his warriors much later, but his mind stayed with the commander and his dying words. From a soldier, it could not be mere blathering. Grace… Duncan muttered a while after, as he rounded the number of survivals. Who is Grace?
Chapter One
Dankworth Residence
Two weeks after
“You’re my Grace. Granted by God, to be cherished and loved forever.”
Grace crushed her face into her pillow, drowning it in tears. Her body quivered as those words resounded in her head. Her father’s face, his wide beloved smile, his ever-welcoming arms, his kind voice, his everything.
Scarlett fever was not enough to tear her family apart. It grabbed her mother’s life when she was a mere five years old. A babe left in the care of her father. She could still recall her father’s grief for months. And as Grace grew, she knew why. It had not been easy for her parents to conceive her. When she finally came, everyone thought, surely, the mother could not carry her to term.
Her health had been frail but somehow, Grace was brought into the world. The whispers urging her father to take an illegitimate mistress died. The ones laughing at her mother, quenched. For five years, their little family blossomed. After that, her father stood tall beside her, like an infallible tree guiding her through life.
Only now, he was gone.
Her heart craved his presence, just once more. That one time, she would… what? What could she have possibly done? She had no premonition, other than the persistent dread pounding in her heart. When she saw him off, it was like always, with tears blurring her vision and a prayer on her lips.
“Did you hear me?!” Grace screamed at her ceiling. “Didn’t you hear? Didn’t you hear God? I wanted him back safe!” She shouted, her voice hoarse.
Her maid knocked, but Grace refused to pay mind to her concerned enquiries. She would stay ensconced in her bedchambers, until another messenger arrived. Until the news changed. Until her father’s benevolent voice and warm heart suffused the house with happiness once more.
The maid knocked again. Grace swiped a hand over her face and drew a deep breath. It did nothing to calm her nerves but at least, her heart had stopped thundering. She swallowed a lump gathered in her throat and called, “Come in, Mary.”
She was seated when Mary poked her head in. Trepidation clouded her expression. Everyone treated her like glass ready to break and she couldn’t blame them. She struggled to rein in the storm.
“It is fine,” she said softly.
“I… I could tell the gentlemen that you’re resting. They would not object.”
“No, I have put this off for as long as I can. It is time to face my responsibilities.”
Mary’s eyes clouded and Grace couldn’t bear to look at her. Otherwise, her own tears would come as an unceasing torrential downfall. Mary had come to live with them when she was five, around the same time Grace’s mother had passed. She knew the woman understood her loss more than anyone else. Grace inhaled and placed her palms on the flat surface of the dresser. “I would like a single braid please.”
“Certainly. May I wash your face first?”
Grace gazed at her pale face. Her lips were without color, dark circles surrounded her eyes, her nose was tinged red. The only light in her dark brown eyes came from the lamp, otherwise, they were dull, bloodshot, and lifeless. She was in no mood to face Owen or Ethan. But her father would have wanted her to be strong.
About twenty minutes later, Grace met the men in the main hall. She was draped in a simple black dress, black gloves and a dark veil shielding half her face. Her thick dark hair had been tugged into a single braid down her back.
They rose as she entered. Mr. Williams, her Gaelic teacher, was also present and her eyes warmed as they flickered toward him. Pain reflected in his drooping eyes. Having lost a best friend, the oldest friend he had, made him just as hollow as Grace. He tilted his head, opening his arms to her. Stifling a sob, Grace went to him and hugged him for a shorter time than she liked. Cut short by Owen’s loud cough.
“How are you, my dear?” Mr. Williams asked in a hushed voice.
Grace couldn’t force her lips to rise in a smile. She nodded then looked toward Owen just as a serving girl entered. Owen had one of those faces one forgot very quickly, if not for his nasty attitude, which made him memorable in the longer run. Nasty toward those he considered below his station. Grace supposed it was down to his own lack of confidence.
To the serving girl, he barked, “leave the room. We will call when you are needed.”
She looked to Grace and she gave a slight nod. With a small smile, the girl walked back to the kitchen. Ethan cleared his throat as Grace took the single chair opposite them, which faced the window. It was her father’s favorite. Several nights had been spent within the confines of these cushions, his voice right next to her eyes as he read adventurous stories to her.
Now, she basked in his scent, using that to calm her as Ethan opened his mouth to speak. He was not a bad fellow. Those transparent blue eyes, coal-dark hair and wide shoulders distinguished him among other gentlemen, especially in contrast to Owen’s big nose and black eyes. The women swooned in the presence of the tiny mole above Ethan’s upper lips, composing little poems about kissing it away. In addition, he was her father’s most trusted confidant and second-in-command. A position he had risen to in less than three years.
“Have you been well?” Ethan asked.
“I-”
“Of course not, Mr. Smith,” Williams said lightly. He’d always liked Ethan, for reasons best known to him. “I think you should proceed to the agenda of the evening.”
“And I think you should know your place,” Owen pranced to Ethan’s needless defense. It was his primary job, other than being a social nuisance, which included bedding as many women as he could.
“Gentlemen, please.” Grace said, curiosity prickling her ears. “I will call for tea…”
“I would prefer something stronger,” Owen interrupted. Grace rang the little bell by her side and the same serving girl reappeared. She repeated the order and when she left, she asked about this agenda.
“No, I just want to know how you are carrying on, dear,” Ethan said softly. Grace’s eyebrows rose. Never had he spoken to her with such an informal affection. Could it be that with the loss of her father, came the disrespect of his subordinates?
“I am well,” she lied.
Ethan took something wrapped in black cloth by his side. Grace frowned at it, then at him. He cleared his voice and rubbed his palms down his legs. “There is no good way to say this.” He slid out the long object and placed it on the table. Slower than a snail, he unwrapped it. Grace stifled her shock as she gazed upon a sharp blade.
Its blade bore caked, brownish blood. The hilt had the face of a lion carved into it. Her breathing became fast as her lungs sought for fast-diminishing air. She blinked rapidly, fighting with everything in her, to hold back tears. That was her father’s blood. On the weapon that’d taken his life.
Ethan cleared his voice once more, waving a hand at the sword while Williams rose to stand by her side. She had requested to see it, yet she could not force herself from the chair to touch it.
“This is a sgian dubh, a Scottish adaga. We found it next to him. I saw your dad at the clearing with another Scottish warrior and I called for reinforcements, but it was too late.”
Grace feels like her breathing stopped for a second. Ethan spoke again.
“However, we recognize the man that was closest to him at the time. He dressed in the colors of clan Hay and the weapon has a lion symbol. During battle, he was the one commanding the Scots and, since we heard that the Laird of the clan himself has been sick for a while now, the man is probably his son.”
Grace clenched her fists in her lap, thinking of that man. The vile person who’d deprived her of her father.
“You should remember that it is war,” Williams said, noticing her clenched fists. Grace disagreed. It was her father, and the person who murdered him did not deserve to share the air with her.
“I found him… we found him… just before…” Ethan paused, closed his eyes and inhaled, in a show to gather his feelings. “Anyway, even in his last moment, he was thinking about you.”
Grace allowed a trembling smile as a single tear slid past her defenses. “Thank you.”
Ethan smiled at her, and Grace could sense that his mood was improving.
“I have another thing to tell you Grace. Good news that will hopefully make you feel better. Of course, I was preparing something more romantic but, due to the circumstances, I believe it is best to let you know. Last time I came to visit your father here before the battle, I asked for your hand and… and he said yes.” her eyes flew to his face.
“What?!” Grace blurted, foregoing all of her training. “That is impossible.” Ethan shrank back as though he’d been slapped. He never thought he would receive such a fervent rejection. She glanced at Williams, wanting to hear that it was a lie. Williams placed a hand on her shoulder for a moment.
“He speaks the truth,” he said quietly.
Grace gripped the arms of the chair, waves of shock rippling through her. “No. My father would never make such arrangements without telling me. He…” She knew he must have had a will, every soldier did. But she knew nothing of its content.
“He would have told you, eventually. While he had his will prepared, Commander was an incredible soldier, so his death was a shock to us.” Owen spoke quickly, his words falling over each other.
“I’ve had enough of this, gentlemen.” Grace said, attempting to get out of her seat.
“Ethan please,” Owen said. “Caution your fiancée before she does something regrettable. You know how women are”
Fiancée? Was it already decided?
Grace had the mind to damn them all to eternity. Only the face of her father helped curb her annoyance. She should have known one of these men would swoop in to take her inheritance. The fact that it was Ethan, however, was beyond disappointing. She had expected more from the man who fought by her father’s side.
She leveled Owen with an icy gaze. “Mr. Owen. I am not a horse to be cautioned by a man. You will speak to me with the decorum I deserve.”
He turned red. In the midst of his tantrum, the serving girl arrived with the drinks. Her eyes flared on seeing the sword. Wordlessly, she placed the tray beside it and walked out. At her departure, Ethan unfolded a piece of paper from his coat pocket.
“This is a document signed by your father, the day I asked for your hand. In it, he declares that it would be a perfect arrangement to have you as my wife. But I want you to know, Miss Dankworth, even without these stipulations, I will make it my priority to see that you are happy and without a single worry.”
Grace made a sudden grab for the paper, “Let me see that.”
Owen slapped down Ethan’s hand, narrowly missing hers, before she could collect it. “Ethan would not lie to you. Have you not known him long enough?”
Grace opened her mouth to rebuke strongly, etiquette be damned. This was her future in discourse. However, it seemed Ethan noted her escalating temper and signaled his lackey to wait outside. Grumbling, Owen grabbed a glass of whisky and did as he was asked. Calmer now, Ethan walked to her and passed the paper.
There it was. Her father’s sloped handwriting and his crescent moon seal. This was not a horrible nightmare she dreamed up in her despair. She looked from one man to the other, her chest rising and falling fast. Whenever she had thought about marriage, she had imagined it to be with a man who made her heart race. Someone whose presence alone wrought a smile from her lips. Someone who she would care deeply for, and who would feel the same. She wanted love, in its purest form and this arrangement robbed her of that privilege.
Ethan, who was almost twice her age, was not in that category. Although he had always had great conduct, both with her father and with her. She had no doubt that he would make some woman happy. But not her.
“It has just been a few days since my father’s burial. I cannot marry you nor do I have the strength to discuss the implications.”
“I understand, Grace, if I may use your name. However, you are aware of the perilous times. I am only allowed a handful of days to mourn the Commander before I am called back to the station. I am afraid we have to proceed quickly. As you know, soldiers cannot predict the length of their lives.”
Grace’s vision swam. “How many days?” her voice came out quieter than the storm clashing in her head.
“Two days.”
Grace made an involuntary sound that was a cross between a squeak and a laugh. She lurched from the chair. “Please, help yourselves. My head… is aching.”
She fled the room. Halfway to her own chamber, she veered towards her father’s study. It would be hard for her to confront the place where he had spent much time, but the situation was dire. Grace locked the door behind her, afraid that she might be seen by Mr. Williams or Ethan. She had to confirm the facts on her own.
Grace knew that her father’s testament was hidden in a locked drawer, since he had told her about it in case she ever needed it. At the time, Grace had not liked the way her father talked about his death, but she could see now that he had just been looking out for her. The key was hidden inside her father’s favorite book, the one he read to her before bed.
Grace’s heart sank as she read the will. In it, her father made it clear that his fortune and properties would be passed on to Grace’s husband after his death, emphasizing the need for her to marry soon so she would be taken care of. In case he died before the marriage, her inheritance would be administered by a man of his utmost trust, Mr. Williams. Grace knew about the will, but she never would have thought he had harbored such plans. She felt trapped by the situation and even worse knowing she would never be able to discuss it with her father. Grace forced herself not to cry again because she had to think clearly. She had to come up with a plan of her own.
In her room, Grace made a beeline to the chest of clothing in the corner, then the wardrobe. Her mind refused to fully understand what had just transpired among her and Ethan. Her father had loved her more than anyone else in the world, of that, she was beyond certain. So she could not understand why he would agree to give her hand in marriage without telling her.
With everything happening, a wedding was the least of her concerns. The killer pervaded her mind, leaving room for little else. Her father should have trusted her capabilities instead of giving her away in such a manner.
Weren’t her knees scraped and her hands calloused from all the training she had received from him? He taught her to be independent, to fight with a sword, ride hard and fast, and more than anything to have her own damned mind. He cherished every single breath she took. Her father’s doting was the very reason why she had to avenge his death. Grace was determined. She would devise a plan that would help her escape the wedding to find the killer.
The sky outside her window had gone dark by the time her attire was complete. She wore a white blouse with puffed sleeves and a wide neckline, a plaid corset, flaring out to a full blue skirt. Her hair was brushed out and cascaded down her back, in luxurious waves.
At a glance, she resembled a highlander lass. From all the books she’d read, blending into their culture would be… well it would have to be like a second skin, which was rather impossible. But she would do her best to fit in, until she found that bastard. Under the dark sky, Grace picked her way through the familiar grounds. As her feet led her toward the stables, Grace’s heart bled. Despite her conviction regarding this forlorn mission, she wept in silence for the home she was deserting.
She hoped her father would understand and forgive if he could see her. At the stables, she reached into her pocket, finding the carrot she’d hidden there. She fed her horse Minnie while keeping a look out for the stablemaster. At this time, he was usually passed out drunk, but one of the hands could come. After Minnie had chewed the last piece, Grace hurried to saddle her. She also hid the money she’d managed to pilfer.
She led her from the stall. Once the fresh air hit her face, a voice floated in with it. “Where are you going?”
Grace jumped, her spirit nearly fleeing from her body in fright. Ensuring that her bag was hidden atop Minnie, she turned to Harris. In the reflection of a full moon, his usual warm smile was missing. She’d grown up without biological siblings, but thanks to Harris she had never felt the absence.
How many times had she and Harris, Mr. William’s son, snuck around enjoying a fun childhood, playing outside with the horses? They had grown up like siblings and yet, she could not count on his help this time.
“Oh bollocks! Harris, you gave me a good fright. Out for a ride, what else? Why are you skulking about? B-back from the station already?”
“My father was worried you’d do something rash.” He looked at her horse, then her odd dress. “Appears he was right.”
“Well, he’s wrong. Did he tell you about the will? I’m to be married to Mr. Smith,” she rushed on without waiting for his reply. “I just need some air. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Concern flickered in his gaze, “I could come with you.”
“Please,” Grace scoffed, waving her arm. “I have a steadier hand than you. I’m fine. Be back before you know it.” She stepped on the saddle and heaved herself up to the seat.
“I just let you think that you have a steadier hand than mine.” He cocked his head to the side, scanning her appearance closely. “Grace, what are you wearing then?” Exasperation filling his voice.
Grace reddened. He might really follow and in turn foil her plans. “My father just died. I don’t want pitying glances and attention. This perfectly conceals who I am.” She forced a jolly tone. “Don’t you think?” She jiggled her shoulders. A hesitant smile lifted Harris’s thin lips. He took a step back.
He nodded once, “In that case, I will wait here until your return. Please don’t be late or I would be forced to follow you.”
Relief flooded Grace as she took a last glance at her dearest friend. She flashed a smile then gave Minnie a light kick. She rode hard into the field separating her home from the road. In a few minutes, it was swallowed by the woods surrounding it. She had one goal. To avenge her father’s death.
