by Katy Baker
He grimaced, shaking his head at himself. What was he doing? He was supposed to be caring for the lass, and here he was, aroused to the full like some mindless beast.
But what am I supposed to do? he thought. Lord help me, I'm but a man, and what man wouldnae be aroused by such a bonny lass lying next to him like this?
The truth was, since the first moment he'd set eyes on Gretchen Matthews, he'd felt something stir inside him. There was ...something about her. She was on outlander with an odd way of speaking and even odder mannerisms and yet he found himself unaccountably attracted to her. He'd never met a lass so feisty and independent.
Fool! he chided himself. She'll be gone in the morning. Go to sleep.
"That's nice," Gretchen murmured sleepily. "You're like a giant hot water bottle."
He froze, not sure what to do. Gretchen snuggled closer against him, her weight a wonderful pressure against his body. She shifted, pulling his arm tighter around her.
Ewan swallowed. He hoped to God that she didn't notice his arousal. Like that, holding Gretchen in his arms, Ewan closed his eyes.
But he doubted he'd get much sleep.
Chapter 6
FIRST LIGHT LEAKING through the cave entrance woke Ewan. He opened his eyes which were grainy from lack of sleep. He'd spent a fitful night in a kind of dozing half-sleep, jerking awake every time Gretchen moved in case she needed him.
She was still asleep, curled up with the blanket wrapped around her. Careful not to wake her, Ewan rolled away from her and climbed to his feet. He stretched his arms overhead and then made his way outside. Dawn was creeping through the forest, streamers of sunlight starting to poke through the trees. The air smelled clean and fresh so Ewan drew in a great, invigorating breath.
A breeze picked up suddenly, swirling Ewan's hair around his head and rattling the branches of the trees.
Listen, the wind seemed to whisper. Remember.
Unbidden, the words Irene MacAskill had spoken to him came to mind. There is help coming. However, ye must recognize that help when it comes to ye. If ye do, and ye open yer heart, mayhap ye'll find yer heart's desire and save yer clan in the process.
He glanced back at the cave where Gretchen was still sleeping. Was that why they'd met so unexpectedly yesterday? Had Irene MacAskill set their paths to meet?
He smiled wryly then shook his head at his own stupidity. Listen to ye, he thought. As superstitious as an old crone. Stop being daft. See to the lass then be on yer way.
He returned to the cave, poked the fire to life, and began boiling up some water to make a tea of mint leaves. Gretchen was still asleep. He knelt beside her and shook her shoulder.
"Gretchen," he said. "Tea's ready, lass."
She moaned. Her eyes flickered open and then closed again.
Ewan frowned. He felt her forehead. It was burning, hotter even than last night and completely dry. The lass's fever hadn't broken during the night as he'd hoped.
He lifted her gently into a sitting position, leaning her against the rock wall and held her chin whilst he fed her tiny sips of mint tea. She roused enough to swallow the drink before she fell into slumber again.
Ewan bit his lip. What was he to do? The lass required help, more help than he could offer. He knew how to treat battle wounds and splint a twisted ankle but that was the limit of his skills. No, the lass needed an apothecary. But where to take her? The land round about was empty for miles. He knew of nobody nearby who might help her.
Dun Carrick, he thought. I have to get her to a healer in Dun Carrick. I have to take her home with me.
The thought sent a mixture of excitement and fear through him. Excitement because he'd get to enjoy her company for a little longer, fear because he didn't know what kind of reception he'd receive when he got home.
Could he take the lass into that? Into potential danger?
His hands curled into fists. I have nay choice, he thought. And I'll protect her. Nobody will hurt her while I live and breathe. This I swear.
He placed his hand under her chin and lifted it. "Gretchen," he said. "Wake up, lass. I need to speak to ye."
Gretchen's eyes fluttered open, slightly unfocused. "Ewan?" she whispered. "I don't feel so good."
"I know, lass, and I'm sorry for it. I need ye to concentrate for a moment. Ye need attention lass, and the nearest place ye can get it is my home, Dun Carrick. But I'll not take ye there without yer permission. Will ye agree to come with me?"
Gretchen smiled wanly. "Sure. On one condition."
"Name it."
"I can have a hot bath when we get there. I think my bones have frozen."
Ewan smiled. "I give ye my personal guarantee ye can enjoy as long and as hot a bath as ye require, lass."
"Great. Then what are we waiting for?"
Ewan packed up the camp then saw to the horse and led him outside. When all was ready he returned to the cave and gently lifted Gretchen. She protested weakly that she could walk as he carried her to the horse. He hoisted her into the saddle and then climbed up after her.
She leaned back against him, already sinking back into delirious sleep. Ewan kicked the horse into motion.
They made good time and soon left the forest far behind. The terrain became steeper and their path wound up to higher ground where Ewan could see the Highlands stretching out to the horizon. A loch twinkled in the sunlight and to the north mountains rose in the distance, their tops covered in snow even this late in the summer.
Try as he might, Ewan couldn't stop his thoughts straying to what might happen when they reached Dun Carrick, his family's ancient seat. He'd not seen the place in four years. A lot could change in that time. What waited for him when he got there?
If his aunt's letter was anything to go by, nothing good.
Ye must steel yer courage and save yer clan.
Irene MacAskill's words echoed in his mind. He shook his head. How was he to save anything? He was just one man.
Eventually, towards midday, they topped a hillside and Ewan found himself looking down into a fertile valley. He pulled the horse to a halt and took in the sight. A wide river snaked through the valley and cottages hugged both shores. At the mouth of the valley, strategically placed to control traffic along the river, stood Dun Carrick castle. Its battlements were outlined against the blue sky and Ewan saw many flags snapping in the breeze.
Ewan breathed deeply, feeling an odd mixture of relief and apprehension.
He was home.
EWAN FOUND HIMSELF holding the reins tightly and forced himself to relax as they rode into the village and passed the first cottages. Many of them were obviously empty and had their windows and doors boarded over. Ewan frowned. What had happened here for so many people to have left?
Ewan guided the horse onto the main road to the castle at a trot and it wasn't long before they began running into signs of life. Children ran through the streets, shrieking. Women stood chatting over their fences. Eyes widened as he was spotted and he heard whispering behind him.
"Is that Ewan Murray? Has he come home?"
"Surely not! Old Laird Malcolm made his feelings clear."
"But the laird's gone now. Aye, I'm sure that's Ewan. He looks a little older but I'd recognize him anywhere."
"But he's not alone. Who's that with him?"
Ewan gritted his teeth and continued riding. He didn’t have time for gossip. He had to get Gretchen to the castle.
Then he spied a mounted figure galloping towards him. The man rode with abandon, mud flying from beneath his horse's hooves. Ewan tensed, pulling his horse to a halt. His hand went to his sword hilt, ready for any threat.
The man pulled his horse up short in a shower of dirt and Ewan's eyes widened as he recognized the rider.
"Connail?"
"Ewan!" his younger brother roared. "It's ye! I canna believe it!"
He leaned over in his saddle and gripped Ewan's arm in the warrior grip, forearm to forearm.
Despite his worries for Gretchen, E
wan found himself smiling. "Connail! As I live and breathe! Ye've grown up, little brother!"
Connail had been a lad of fifteen when Ewan had been banished, still green around the ears and finding his way in the clan. But now? He'd filled out, become almost as broad-shouldered as Ewan himself. The hilt of a sword stuck above one shoulder and his blond locks were tied into a warrior's braid.
"Aye, well, some of us had nay choice but to grow up. Especially when their brother abandoned them." He grinned and waved a hand as Ewan opened his mouth to protest. "I'm only jesting. It was Uncle Malcolm's fault ye went away." He frowned. "I just wish I'd done more to stop him. Make him change his mind. I should never have let him send ye away."
"And what could ye have done?" Ewan asked. "He wouldnae listen to anyone. Had ye challenged him he likely would have banished us both!"
Connail rubbed his chin. "Aye, mayhap yer right." He nodded to Gretchen. "Who's yer companion? And what have ye done to tire her out so?"
Ewan scowled, not appreciating his jest. "This is Lady Gretchen Matthews, a traveler I met on the road. And I've done nothing to 'tire her out'. She's ill and I need to get her to the castle right away."
Connail's expression sobered. "My apologies. Let's get going then. Aunt Jenna can take a look at her."
Connail kicked his horse into a trot and bellowed at people to get out of his way. Ewan followed close behind, keeping a tight grip on Gretchen.
They reached the gates of the castle which stood open with a single guard standing watch outside. Ewan thought he recognized him.
"Michael?"
The guard, a lad of not more than sixteen, looked up at Ewan and his eyes widened. "Lord Ewan?" he stammered. "Is that ye?"
"Aye," Ewan said. "And close yer mouth, ye'll catch flies. Run ahead and tell Lady Jenna that I've arrived and that I’ll need her skills as a healer."
The lad sketched an awkward bow then bolted into the castle. Connail glanced at the crowd that had followed them to the gates.
"Seems yer return has caused quite the stir, brother."
Ewan grimaced. Causing a stir was the last thing he wanted but it seemed he couldn't avoid it now. He rode through the gates and into a wide courtyard of hard-packed earth.
Ewan looked around like a wide-eyed lad. It had only been four years but it felt like an age had passed since he'd seen this place. High walls surrounded the courtyard with tall towers in each corner. The huge keep still dominated the space and a new set of stone steps leading up to the doors had been added while he’d been gone.
It looked the same and yet different. Smaller, somehow.
Connail swung down from the saddle and Ewan gently lifted Gretchen into his arms. Ewan dropped to the ground and looked around, taking everything in.
"I dinna believe it!" a voice cried behind them. "It is ye!"
He turned to see a teenage girl striding towards them. She had long dark hair in a braid down her back and wore black leggings, knee-length boots and a tunic of forest green. An older woman followed in a more stately fashion, smiling widely. The girl barrelled into him, throwing her arms around him and burying her face into his shoulder.
Ewan grunted. "Easy, Amy. I think ye've just cracked a rib!"
Amy let him go and stood grinning at him. "Ye canna ken how pleased I was when mother finally sent for ye, cousin. I've only been badgering her to do so for the last three years! Haven’t I, mother?"
This last comment was addressed to the older woman. She wore a flowing red gown and her dark hair was pinned intricately. Aunt Jenna was around fifty years of age and was a handsome woman with green eyes like Ewan's.
She raised an eyebrow at her daughter. "Amy has been unbearable for the last few weeks, waiting for ye to come home."
"Can ye blame me?" Amy asked. "Ewan is the only one around here with any sense!"
"Hey!" Connail said. "There's no need to be insulting!"
"Hush, Amy," her mother said. "Remember yer manners."
Jenna stepped up to Ewan and took both his hands in hers. "She speaks the truth, lad. It's good to see ye."
"And ye, Aunt Jenna. I've missed the pair of ye, even Amy, which is quite a revelation, believe me. But we’ll have to catch up later. Did Michael tell ye I needed yer skills as a healer? I’ve a friend here who needs our help."
Jenna turned her piercing gaze on Gretchen. "Aye, he did. Who is she?"
Ewan explained how he'd run into Gretchen yesterday and her face became more stern as he spoke.
"Right," Jenna said. "Bring her inside right away." Her voice had taken on the brusque, no-nonsense tone he remembered so well from childhood.
Ewan took Gretchen from Connail and followed his aunt up the steps and into the castle. The sights and smells of home assailed him as Jenna led him through the great hall and up a set of stairs into the sleeping quarters but Ewan hardly noticed them. All his attention was fixed on Gretchen.
She weighed next to nothing in Ewan's arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder and she appeared to be mumbling in her sleep. Her fever was burning her up. Her cheeks were flushed and he could feel the heat of it seeping through her clothes and into his arms.
"Will she be all right?" he asked his aunt, anxiously.
"Dinna worry, lad," Jenna said, laying a comforting hand on his arm. "She'll be right as rain as soon as her fever breaks. Ye did the right thing bringing her to us. Now carry her inside and lay her on the bed."
Jenna pushed open the door to one of the guest chambers. Ewan carried Gretchen into the room and laid her gently down on the bed. He placed her hands together on her chest then gently reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.
"Rose!" Jenna called to one of the servants. "Ask Isabelle to brew up some honey-broth then bring me hot water and clean cloths. Oh, and run up to my solar and bring my box of remedies. Quickly now!"
The sound of retreating feet indicated the servant had run off to do Jenna's bidding. Ewan leaned over Gretchen. Her chest rose and fell and her dark hair spilled across the pillow. Her lips were parted and her eyelids fluttered as she dreamed. She was so beautiful Ewan found his breath quickening.
A fierce protectiveness welled up in Ewan. He would make sure she was made well again. And when she was he'd see her safely on her way to her kinfolk, he vowed.
"Out with ye!" Jenna said. "Ye'll do her no good by getting in my way!"
"I want to stay with her," Ewan replied. "I made an oath to see her well again."
Jenna pursed her lips and fixed Ewan with a stern gaze. "And what exactly do ye think ye can do for her that I cannot? She's not the first lass with a fever I've ever attended to, Ewan Murray, and I doubt she'll be the last. Now out with ye! I'll let ye know as soon as there's any change."
Jenna ushered Ewan to the door. With a last look at Gretchen, Ewan reluctantly left. He found Connail waiting for him outside. He was leaning against the wall.
"Dinna worry about yer friend," he said. "Aunt Jenna will take care of the bonny lass.” He grinned suddenly. “So, what’s it like to be back? Ye've certainly caused a stir and no mistake."
Ewan winced. "That was not my intent. Where is Merith? She didnae join Jenna and Amy in greeting me."
It was Connail's turn to wince. "Our laird isn't here. She left this morning on a hunting expedition and likely won't return until this evening. It's good that she's not here, in fact." Connail looked around as if checking nobody was in hearing distance then lowered his voice. "It gives me a chance to fill ye in on all that's been happening."
Ewan wasn't sure he liked the sound of that but he followed his brother as he led him down the steps and into the great hall. It was filled with tables and benches as usual. The Murray plaid hung from the walls but there was another insignia hanging above the fireplace, one he didn't recognize.
"What's that?" he asked.
Connail's expression darkened. "Ah. That's one of the things I need to appraise ye of. That's the colors of the de Clare family." He glanced around again and
moved through the hall towards the doors. "Come, I'll fill ye in as we walk."
Connail took Ewan round the castle, visiting places he'd not seen in years. He was greeted warmly by most of the people they met—the servants, the stable hands, the blacksmiths and the farriers. When they made their way out onto the practise field, the warriors stopped what they were doing and clustered round him, shaking his hand, slapping his back and letting up a cheer to welcome him home. Many of them Ewan had known before his exile and it was good to see old friends again.
But not everyone greeted him with warmth. Some gave him dark looks and hurried away without speaking whilst some stared at him with open hostility. Most of these, Ewan noticed, wore the livery of the de Clare family.
"Last I looked I had no quarrel with John de Clare," Ewan said as a de Clare warrior fixed him with a stony glare before striding past. "I didnae like the man much—he seemed a bully and a braggart to me and I never did approve of my uncle inviting him into our clan the way he did—but I never came to crossed words so I canna ken why his men stare at me like I'm a rabid dog."
They were crossing the bailey and Connail looked around before he answered. "They aren't John de Clare's men. They follow his bastard son, Richard."
Ewan's eyebrows raised. He remembered Richard de Clare, a short-tempered young man with a chip on his shoulder but he'd not commanded warriors of his own when Ewan left. "But John de Clare is Merith's husband is he not? So surely he commands here?"
"Was Merith's husband," Connail corrected. "He was killed in battle a few months back. It's his son, Richard, who's in charge now. He's like Merith's shadow, always by her side, always whispering in her ear, and he's every bit as poisonous as his father was. I dinna like the influence he has over our laird and I dinna like the direction they're taking our clan."
"Direction? What do ye mean?"
"Ye remember how Uncle Malcolm got towards the end? Seeing enemies around every corner? Picking fights with our neighbors? Well, it only got worse when ye left. John de Clare led a raid against the MacFarlanes and got himself killed in the process. Now Merith and Richard are after revenge."
