Adrienne Basso (28 page)

“Ah, now here’s a prime specimen.” Grace held up a plump berry of the darkest hue.

Several of the maids
oohed
in appreciation. Grace moved to place the prize in her basket when she was suddenly seized by a whiff of mischief. With a crafty smile, she whisked the berry up to her face and popped the morsel into her mouth.

“Milady!” Deirdre sounded shocked.

Grace broke into laughter. “Aye, there’s fun in the picking but greater enjoyment in the eating.”

“Lady Moira willnae approve,” Margaret whispered in a worried tone.

“Then we must make certain she doesnae see us,” Grace replied.

Eyes wide, the maids exchanged glances. Then following her lead, each woman grabbed a berry and promptly ate it. Several of the maids giggled behind their hands as they chewed while darting speculative glances at Lady Moira.

“We must not eat too many,” Grace admonished.

“Aye, we must save the bulk of our harvest to share with the others,” Deirdre said piously.

“Nay, there is more than enough here fer all to enjoy.” Grace glanced over her shoulder. “My concern is that if we eat too many our juice-stained lips and teeth will give us away to Lady Moira.”

The announcement brought a fresh gale of giggles, along with a suspicious glare from Lady Moira. Grace returned her mother-in-law’s stern look with an innocent shrug, then cautioned the others to be quiet. The group noticeably increased their efforts as they picked, each occasionally giving in to the temptation of eating a berry. Grace decided the berries tasted even better because they were forbidden fruit.

As Grace lifted another plump morsel to her mouth, she heard something rustling in the hedge. Curious, she leaned down, but saw nothing that could be causing the disturbance. Shaking her head, she returned her attention to the berry picking. The noise returned, much louder, and then suddenly a large boar emerged from the thick underbrush.

It stood and stared at them, its sharp yellowed tusks gleaming, its long snout raised as it sniffed the air. For an instant no one moved. Then one of the maids began to whimper. The beast instantly gravitated toward the sound and began pawing at the ground as if getting ready to charge.

“Silence!” Lady Moira demanded. “Yer crying is drawing his attention.”

“He must have been foraging fer berries on the other side of the bushes,” Grace whispered.

“It matters not where he came from,” Lady Moira snapped. “What we need to be concerned about is getting rid of it. Does anyone have a weapon?”

“I have a dirk,” Grace admitted.

“Ye cannae kill a beast of that size with a knife,” Lady Moira muttered in annoyance.

“I was not intending to slay it,” Grace retorted. “I was merely answering yer question.”

“We need to reach higher ground,” Lady Moira said calmly. “The animal cannae attack us if we are in a tree.”

“A tree!” Grace screeched. “’Tis a far sprint to reach any trees.”

“I cannae climb a tree,” Deirdre wailed. A few others sniffled in agreement.

“Can we outrun it?” Grace asked. “I know these creatures have poor eyesight. If we scatter in different directions, we could confuse it long enough to escape.”

“Ye’ll not get very far if he cuts yer legs with those sharp tusks,” Lady Moira answered. “And once it attacks, it will not cease until it kills its prey.”

The boar snorted loudly and shook its head. Lady Moira barely seemed to breathe as she stared the gruesome animal in the eye. Grace swallowed in fear. How could the woman remain so calm in the face of such danger?

“We need to make a decision quickly or else he’s going to make it fer us,” Grace stated anxiously.

“All right.” Lady Moira slowly set her basket of fruit on the ground. “At my signal, I want each of ye to run fer the trees.”

“Lord save us,” Deirdre cried.

Grace swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. “Lady Moira is right. The nasty thing cannae follow all of us.”

“Run! Now!” Lady Moira shouted.

At the sound, the boar turned. Grace began to run, but a scream, followed by a crashing noise, drew her attention. She turned and saw Lady Moira sprawled on the ground, the boar charging toward her.

Terrified, Grace knew she had to act. Pulling back her arm, she threw her basket of berries. Time seemed to cease as it flew through the air, berries flying in all directions. Miraculously, it somehow landed on the animal’s head.

“Hey, ye witless beast,” Grace yelled. “Where do ye think ye’re going?”

Stunned, the boar halted and spun around in confusion. Shocked her ploy had worked, Grace stumbled backward. The beast seized the moment and charged her, bellowing and squealing. Grace screamed too as she regained her footing and took off at a run. Her heart pounded against her chest and her mouth grew dry with fear.

Hoping to confuse the animal further, Grace veered from side to side as she moved. She could hear the other women shrieking and shouting, but she dared not spare the time or energy to look behind her, for she also heard the angry snorts of the relentless boar coming hard on her heels.

She spied a sturdy tree ahead and went directly toward it, leaping onto the lowest branch. Her arms burned as she struggled to pull herself onto the limb, praying it was strong enough to support her weight, knowing that if she fell to the ground now, the boar would shred her flesh.

Shaking in terror, she considered climbing higher, but the animal roared in anger and rammed the tree trunk. The rough bark dug into her palms and her grip faltered as the entire tree shook. Screeching, Grace straddled the limb and wrapped her arms tightly around the trunk. The breath she had been holding came out in a gushing sob and the boar circled the tree, preparing to strike again.

Her mind flashed with the memory of Alastair’s wounds, his leg badly cut and mangled. Those mortal wounds had been inflicted by a boar. If a warrior like Alastair, a man who hunted with skill and accuracy, could be cut down by such a beast, what chance did she have of surviving?

The thunder of hoofbeats and shouting penetrated her terrified mind. Nerves tingling, she gazed out and saw a group of riders making a dangerous headlong gallop up the hill. From her perch in the tree she had no difficulty recognizing the horse or the rider in the lead.

Ewan!

“Have care,” she yelled. “There’s an angry boar at the base of this tree.”

Ewan slowed his mount, then reached behind his shoulder. Grace expected him to pull his sword, but instead he produced a heavy crossbow. Using his strong thighs to guide the still-moving horse, Ewan held the crossbow in both hands, aimed, and let loose an arrow.

It struck the boar with unerring accuracy. The boar squealed in anger and rammed the tree harder. Ewan quickly fired off two more shots, each finding its mark. The beast let out a final squeal, then fell. Clutching the trunk tighter, Grace willed her trembling to stop as she stared down at the unmoving animal.

“Are there any others?” Ewan shouted as he reined in his horse beside the tree.

“The maids . . . yer mother . . .” Grace babbled.

“Nay, lass, are there any other boars?” he said gently.

“Oh. We dinnae see any others. Do they hunt in packs?”

“Not usually, but I’ll have the men check the area.” Ewan extended his arm.

Grace swallowed and tried to slow her harried breathing. Her hand shook as she reached out and grabbed onto him, basking in the feel of his solid strength. He settled her in front of him, then laid his hand on her shoulder and eased her back against his chest. His arms closed tightly around her, surrounding her in quiet warmth. Catching her breath with a shudder, she burrowed into him, basking in the security of his comforting embrace.

Safe, I am safe.

Ewan slowly maneuvered his mount around the dead boar and rode up the hill. The horse picked his way carefully through the thick bushes and rocky ground. Grace could see the rest of Ewan’s men combing the hillside on horseback, assisting the other women.

“Have ye found everyone?” Ewan asked, as they pulled alongside Alec.

The warrior nodded. Deirdre was perched in front of him, looking perfectly at ease nestled in the shelter of his arms. “None are harmed, though there are brambles scattered all over the hillside,” Alec said.

Deirdre swung around, hitting Alec in the chin with the top of her head. “We had little care fer the berries when we were fleeing fer our lives.”

“Aye, ’tis a miracle ye are all in one piece.” Alec rubbed his jaw, then leaned forward and buried his face in her hair. Deirdre giggled.

“My mother?” Ewan asked.

“She is safe, though all the others can speak of is how bravely Grace acted to save her,” Alec answered.

“’Tis true,” Deirdre confirmed. “Lady Grace was magnificent.”

The two men looked at her in utter disbelief. Grace shrugged and rubbed her fingers over her eyes.

“Where is my mother now?” Ewan asked.

“She insisted on riding her own mount and forced young Duncan to relinquish his horse,” Alec answered.

Deirdre clucked her tongue in sympathy. “Poor lad. ’Tis unmanly to have to give up yer horse, and to a woman, no less.”

“That’s not even the worst of it.” Alec chuckled. “Lady Moira insisted that the men collect all the berries that were spilled. Most are on their hands and knees right now.”

“A rich berry sauce tastes heavenly when eaten with roasted boar,” Deirdre said with a smile.

Grace nearly choked. “I dinnae think I could eat one bite of the beast. Not after staring into those ferocious yellow eyes.”

“Ye’ll feel differently once ye catch a tempting whiff of the roasted meat,” Ewan commented, rubbing her shoulder.

Lacking the strength to argue, Grace set her head against Ewan’s broad shoulder and closed her eyes. And they remained closed until they reached the keep.

Chapter Sixteen

When they reached the bailey, Ewan set Grace down first, then dismounted. Dozens of curious faces gathered around, anxious to hear the tale of what had happened. Grace managed a small smile, trying to assure them that all was well.

“Ye’re hurt,” Ewan exclaimed.

“Am I?” Dazed, Grace glanced down at her arm, barely registering the sight of blood. “Odd, I dinnae feel any pain.”

Grace gasped as Ewan swung her into his arms. With long purposeful strides, he carried her into the keep and up the winding stone staircase.

“Ewan, I—”

“Hush, love. Save yer strength.”

“But I’m not—” Ewan cradled her against his chest, muffling the rest of her words. Grace decided it was a waste of breath to argue. Besides, it felt delightful to be held in her husband’s arms.

He reached the landing and hurried down the short corridor. Their bedchamber door was slightly ajar and he kicked it wide, the sound reverberating through the hallway.

“Ewan, ye are making too much of a fuss,” Grace insisted as he placed her gently on the bed.

“The wound has opened,” he replied. “It needs tending.” Ewan went to the door and shouted for help. It took a few minutes for someone to answer his call. Grace could not see who had come, but could hear him muttering orders to them.

She shifted her position to get a better look and felt a bit of throbbing in her arm. Her gaze dropped to the blood seeping through her sleeve.

“Did ye bring the whiskey?” Ewan asked.

“Aye, along with my herbs. Will the wound need stitching?”

Grace’s head jerked forward. Stitching? Truly? She looked again at her blood-soaked arm. “Dinnae be ridiculous; my wound does not need to be sewn. A simple poultice will aid the healing.”

Ewan touched the back of his hand to her brow. “I fear the wound may become infected. Ye have no fever, but clearly yer wits must have been addled.”

Grace bristled with indignity. “That’s a most unkind thing to say.”

“Is it? Ye risked yer life to save my mother’s.”

“I did?”

“Aye. Do ye not remember? The boar was set to charge her, but ye drew it away. ’Twas all the other women could talk about.” He poured a dram of whiskey into a tankard and pressed it into Grace’s hands. “Drink.”

Grace took a small sip, then a larger swallow, wincing as the liquid hit her belly with a burning fire. She truly did not know why Ewan was making such a fuss, but the more whiskey she drank, the less she cared.

The healer carefully pushed back Grace’s sleeve and examined the wound. Deirdre arrived with a basin of water and Margaret followed with a wooden bowl. She held it steadily while the healer mixed a secret concoction, the smell so cloying it tickled Grace’s nose, causing her to sneeze. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Did she catch a chill?” Ewan asked worriedly, pushing his way through the women to grasp her other hand.

Mother Mary, what was wrong with him?
“I dinnae take a swim in the loch, Ewan,” Grace admonished, rolling her eyes. “I ran from a boar and climbed a tree. How does that cause a chill?”

Ewan shrugged helplessly. Grace saw the other women exchange a quick, private smile. “Me thinks ’twould be best if ye wait outside, Sir Ewan,” the healer said.

Giving him no time to protest, the old woman shooed him from the chamber. As much as she appreciated his concern, Grace soon agreed it was far calmer without him present. The healer’s hands were gentle and efficient as she tended the wound and Grace gradually felt herself starting to relax.

This tranquil mood was interrupted by a commotion in the doorway. A path was cleared around the bed as a woman entered the chamber. Lady Moira! Grace’s wound once again began to throb.

Her squinting eyes swung toward Grace. “I suppose ye expect me to be grateful fer what ye did today?”

Hitching herself up on her elbows, Grace faced her nemesis. “When I heard ye scream, I reacted without thought.” She shut her eyes and bit her tongue, but it was too late to recall the words.

Lady Moira nodded sharply. “I assumed as much. ’Tis the main reason I’ll not feel beholding to ye.”

Grace cracked open one eye. The whiskey Ewan had given her was making her head woolly and her tongue loose. “Why do ye dislike me so much? I’m from a respectable family. I’ve brought a handsome dowry, the promise of fealty from my clan, supplies that are needed and appreciated. I care fer yer son and do all that I can to make him happy.”