Adrienne Basso (15 page)

“I’m placing a guard outside yer bedchamber door,” Ewan stated flatly the moment they were alone.

Grace placed her hands upon her hips and smiled. “There’s no need. Besides, Simon might take offense at the gesture.”

“I dinnae care one wit about what Simon thinks,” Ewan huffed. “The man bears watching. I swore to protect ye and I take that oath most seriously.”

“He’s harmless,” Grace insisted.

“Ye are too trusting.”

“Simon fancies himself a sophisticated gentleman, a courtier with refined tastes and sensibilities.”

Ewan looked suspiciously at her. “And that appeals to ye?”

“Well, he did spend the entire evening singing my praises. He said repeatedly that I was a priceless treasure, a woman possessing a face and figure as soft and alluring as the angels in heaven.”

“Pure rubbish.”

Grace dropped her hands and straightened her spine and Ewan belatedly realized he had inadvertently insulted her. Feeling contrite, he tempered his expression. “Simon mostly enjoys hearing the sound of his own voice. He wouldnae recognize a true beauty like yers even if it reared up and bit him on the arse.”

Grace smiled sheepishly. “Forgive me. When yer face clouds like a rumbling thunderstorm, I cannae resist teasing ye.”

“My man stays outside yer chamber.”

“’Twill be as ye command, Sir Ewan.”

“Aye, and dinnae forget it, lass.”

Acknowledging his concern for Grace’s safety would afford him little sleep, Ewan decided he would be the one to guard her bedchamber door. He constructed a makeshift pallet out of a thin blanket and his cloak, laying it across the threshold. Grousing to himself about how he should be sleeping on the other side of the door, Ewan squirmed to find a position that wouldn’t leave him stiff and aching come morning.

Ears attuned to the sounds of an unfamiliar household, Ewan drifted into a very light sleep. A cloudy edge of a dream invaded his mind; a redheaded beauty with a winsome smile and sparkling gray eyes first beckoned, then pushed him away. He strained forward, eager and desperate to capture this elusive prize. ’Twas close, so close . . .
ewagh.

Ewan came fully awake as the distinct sound of a creaking wooden floorboard alerted him to the presence of another. Body on edge, his first instinct was to spring forward, weapons drawn, but he caught himself before yielding to that warrior urge.

Feigning the deep, even breaths of slumber, Ewan opened his eyes a crack and peered into the darkness. Menacing shadows appeared. A trick of the moonlight? Ewan squinted harder and caught sight of a barrel-chested man lurking at the end of the corridor.

Simon.

Yet Ewan’s feeling of vindication at his correct assessment of their host’s true character was short-lived as Simon moved forward. Didn’t the man notice him guarding the door?

Steadying his breath, Ewan waited. Simon continued to advance. Ewan could see no weapon, but a dirk could easily be concealed within the fold of Simon’s clothing. The moment the other man was within reach, Ewan caught the edge of his tunic and pulled. Careening off balance, Simon landed with a thud on the wooden planks. Wasting no time, Ewan swung wide, his closed fist connecting with Simon’s jaw.

“Holy hell!” Simon gasped.

Moving with surprising speed for such a large man, Simon twisted and tried to elbow Ewan in the gut. Ewan leaned to the side and the blow glanced off his ribs. Recovering, he caught Simon’s arm and wrenched it behind his back.

“Ye appear to be lost,” Ewan hissed, yanking the arm higher.

“Arghh.” Simon’s moans echoed through the corridor. “Let me go, ye ignorant bastard!”

“Not until ye explain yerself.”

“What are ye doing here? Ye should be in the bailey, sleeping with yer men.”

Ewan felt a strong urge to choke the fool. Lord only knew what might have happened if he had followed Simon’s dictates and left Grace on her own. “I’m here to protect my lady from worms like ye.”

Simon stiffened. “Release me at once.”

“Or what?” Ewan challenged.

“Lady Grace will regret it.”

“Bugger that!” Ewan’s upper lip curled in a snarl. He gave Simon’s arm one more hard jerk, then pushed the man away. “Off with ye! Run back to yer chamber before I change my mind and gut ye like a fish.”

“Ye know naught of what ye speak. Lady Grace favored me with smiles and coy glances all evening. ’Tis obvious the lovely widow would welcome me into her bed.”

Ewan raked him with a glare that could start a bonfire. Such blatant disrespect toward a woman was unacceptable, and directing it at Grace added even more rage to Ewan’s growing ire. “Ye’re dreaming. The lady has no interest in ye at all. She was merely being polite.”

Simon curled his lip. “Jealous?”

“Of ye?” Ewan threw back his head and laughed. “Not in this lifetime.”

Simon stood shakily on his feet, his hand clutching his shoulder. “Ye forget who ye are addressing, Gilroy. My men outnumber yers twenty to one.”

“Dinnae ye mean yer uncle’s men?” Ewan taunted.

“Ye dare to insult me?”

“I speak the truth. ’Tis not my fault if ye find it hard to stomach.”

Simon glared with outrage, his breath coming in quick, short pants. “Ye’ll regret those words one day, Gilroy. As well as yer actions tonight.”

Ewan shrugged as Simon walked past him. “I highly doubt it.”

He counted far better men than Simon Kilkinney as his enemy. He had survived being outcast by his own father and hunted as an outlaw by his half brother. Any threats from Simon were puny by comparison. Still, he remained on guard as Simon stalked away, nursing his aching jaw and wounded pride.

Ewan paused and glanced at the door, expecting it to open at any moment, for no one could sleep peacefully through that ruckus. Yet minutes ticked by and nothing happened. Pressing his ear against the heavy oak, Ewan strained to listen, yet heard no sounds from the chamber.

Ewan smiled. Once again, Grace had succeeded in surprising him.

Aye, ’twould be a long night, but well worth it if it meant keeping Grace safe. Ewan squatted, then sat, grateful his mind and body had been trained for years to go without rest. He propped his back and head against the thick wooden door, and with a resigned sigh, waited for the dawn.

Grace rose with the sun the following morning, glad that Edna was there to help her get ready. Initially she had resisted taking Edna on this journey, but the maid had insisted and Grace was thankful for her presence, for she afforded a much-needed dose of female companionship.

“The gray or the blue, milady?” Edna asked, holding up the two gowns.

“Gray,” Grace replied, yawning. Though the bed had been comfortable and the mattress free of vermin, she had not slept well. Her mind was still attempting to reconcile the fact that Ewan was leading her escort and she would be forced into his company for the next few days.

And then there had been that commotion outside her chamber door in the wee hours of the morning, which had broken the fretful slumber she had managed. Her natural inclination had been to investigate, but then she remembered that Ewan was standing guard outside her door.

Odd, how she trusted him implicitly with her safety. Yet with not much else.

As she made her way down to the great hall, Grace decided she would not speak of the incident to Simon. His cloying, overbearing manner had been a bit tedious last evening, though she had wickedly taken a small amount of pleasure in witnessing Ewan’s ire.

When she arrived, Ewan separated himself from the others gathering in the hall. His expression was serious as he hastened to her side. “Don yer cloak, Grace. My men are already mounted and ready to depart.”

She raised her chin and looked him straight in the eye. “Why are we rushing away?”

“Best to leave before the weather turns.”

“Before Mass? Before we break our fast?” Swallowing hard so she could modulate her tone, she added quietly, “Has something occurred that I should be made aware of, Sir Ewan?”

He sighed softly, displaying a visible effort to be even-tempered. “I only wish to keep ye out of a soaking rain. Clouds are already hovering overhead.”

Grace squinted, but could see only darkness through the narrow window slits that rimmed the upper stones of the hall. “Clouds? ’Tis black as pitch outside.”

Ewan’s look sharpened, but before he could answer, Simon drew closer. He extended his arm, his face widening in an obscene smile. “Good morning, Lady Grace. Please, allow me to guide ye to our chapel.”

Grace shook her head. She had an inkling she could use a blessing this day, but she was loath to challenge Ewan. Especially given his attitude toward their host. “Regretfully, we must depart.”

Simon’s face fell. “Will ye not attend Mass in our chapel before breaking yer fast?”

“We’ve time fer neither,” Ewan replied in a solemn, regretful tone, though Grace thought he looked anything but remorseful.

“Surely ye cannot expect a lady to ride all day without sustenance?” Simon shuddered. “’Tis barbaric.”

“Aye, even a crude, ignorant bastard such as myself knows such things,” Ewan chirped. “Yer cook most obligingly prepared a meal fer us.” He held two large baskets aloft. “A feast fit fer King Robert himself, I’d say. And more than enough for the lady and her escort.”

Taut white lines appeared around Simon’s full lips, but Grace was in no mood to humor him. ’Twas nigh impossible to appease both men, she decided. She was done with trying.

Thankfully it was Alec who guided her toward her horse and lifted her to her saddle. Grace noted the sky had lightened, but the clouds that Ewan had mentioned did in truth blanket the sky. ’Twould be a miracle, indeed, if they stayed dry today.

A visibly perturbed Simon followed them into the courtyard. He gave her a strained smile, and somehow managed to touch his forelock and bow. She nodded her head in what she hoped was a regal pose of gratitude. Then paying no heed to Ewan or Simon, she gathered her reins and forced her thoughts to the day ahead.

Once they cleared the gates of the keep, they rode hard, slowing the pace only when the trees and underbrush became a dense forest. Here the path continued to narrow until the riders were forced to reposition themselves into pairs. Grace glanced over, not surprised to see that Ewan rode at her side.

“I noticed Simon sporting a rather nasty-looking bruise on his jaw,” Grace said by way of opening the conversation.

“Aye.”

“Do ye have any clue as to how it got there?”

“I might.”

She heard him shift in his saddle. “Is there anything ye wish to tell me, Ewan?”

“Yer eyes sparkle with the brilliance of the stars lighting the night sky,” he crooned.

“What?”

“Och, is that not fancy enough fer ye?” He let out an exaggerated sigh, then scrunched his nose. “Yer flaxen hair is spun from the purest gold, while yer ruby lips remind me of the ripest cherries, red and sweet and begging to be tasted.”

Distracted, she jerked her reins, causing her mare to dance nervously on the path. “My hair is red, not golden, and if my lips are red it means they are cold. Have yer wits gone missing, Ewan?”

He gave her a heart-melting smile, then grabbed her reins to steady her mount. “Well, lass, now that ye’re no longer in Simon’s company, I though ye might be pining fer a wee bit of flattery.”

Grace opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his jest, but then the overblown flattery registered in her brain and she smiled. The smile quickly grew into a giggle and then a full-blown laugh.

“Ye had no right to strike him, though I cannae deny that Simon was a pompous fool.” Grace giggled again, then took a deep breath.

Amusement lit Ewan’s stormy blue eyes. “’Tis good to hear ye laugh. And that is the honest truth.”

She nodded, taking a strange comfort in their easy banter. There was little conversation between them after that, but the silences were almost restful and Grace felt no inclination to break them.

The anticipated rain arrived just as they stopped to break their fast. Huddled beneath a canopy of dense leaves, Grace sat upon her horse as she chewed the crusty brown bread and nibbled on the sharp cheese. Despite the dismal weather, the men were in good spirits, especially Ewan. Apparently it took more than a gloomy, cool rain to dampen the spirits of a true Highlander.

Returning to the road, they plodded onward and were rewarded by a lesser drizzle and then, as the afternoon grew longer, a rare glimpse of sun. They crossed a narrow bridge built over a fast-moving river. From there, the party rode through forests that suddenly opened into rolling hills and jagged rocks.

The sun setting on the horizon was a glorious riot of purple, red, and gold. Ewan lifted his arm suddenly and Grace gazed at where he pointed, catching sight of a large bird in the distance, wings spread wide as it wheeled, spun, and soared through the clouds.

“Magnificent,” he remarked.

“Freedom,” Grace whispered, almost reverently. “I wonder if the bird realizes what a boon ’tis to live untamed and wild.”

Ewan shook his head. “He’s free until a predator strikes and makes a meal of him.”

“A disheartened thought.” Grace shivered. “Though it has long been the way of the world. The weak are preyed upon by the strong.”

They rode for several more miles, but as night came upon them and the temperature began to cool, the men scouted for a safe location to make camp. Tents were raised; several fires were built. A kettle was placed over the largest to boil, then a group of men set about making the evening meal.

Grace was amused to see Ewan working beside his men; skinning the hares they had trapped, chopping the vegetables from the sack of food supplies that Brian had provided, stirring and tasting the stew. They worked with no regard to rank, in an almost silent rhythm that bespoke of years of camaraderie.

What manner of man was a knight who soiled his hands with the menial labor of cooking? Who ensured that each of his retainers had an equal share of food, who treated those who served him with respect and dignity? Who inspired, rather than commanded, loyalty?