by Katy Baker
Together they ran back into the tent to where the caravan guard was still sat in his chair, under guard. Ewan strode forward, grabbed the man by the tunic and hauled him to his feet.
“Where is Richard de Clare?”
“I don’t know!” the man replied. “Honest!”
“Not good enough!” Ewan growled. “De Clare must have met with yer master when they were making their deal. Think man! Where did they meet?”
“I...um...” the man stammered.
Ewan shook him. “I’m losing my patience!”
“A chapel!” the man cried. “There was a little chapel up by Cold Lake where they used to meet. That’s all I know!”
Ewan dropped the man back into his seat and spun around.
“Out of my way!” he snapped.
He made to stride past Quinn but he grabbed Ewan’s wrist. “The lass was snatched while under MacFarlane protection—the shame lies with us. We’ll be coming with ye to put this right.”
Ewan held Quinn’s gaze for a second then glanced at Robert who shrugged. “He’s right. We’re coming with ye.”
Ewan nodded. “My thanks. Let’s go.”
In only a few short minutes he and the MacFarlane brothers were mounted, along with Connail. They bade a quick farewell to Rebecca and Darcy and then wheeled their mounts and galloped into the west.
“YOU’RE CRAZY!” GRETCHEN spat. “You really think you’ll get away with this? Ewan will find you and he’ll kill you!”
Richard de Clare raised an eyebrow. “You overestimate your lover somewhat, my dear. Ewan Murray doesn’t know where we are. We could have gone anywhere in the four directions by now.”
“He’ll track you,” Gretchen replied. “He’s one of the best trackers in the Murray clan.”
“Yes he is,” de Clare agreed. “But even the best of trackers needs a trail to follow. Which is why I was careful not to leave one. My men cleared our tracks as we rode. Ewan has no way of knowing where we are.” He smiled, looking pleased with himself. “We’ll be undisturbed for our nuptials then afterwards we’re going to England, back to my ancestral lands. No Scotsman will follow us there.”
He grabbed Gretchen’s arm and dragged her to the door, kicking it open and pulling her inside. She struggled in his grip, aiming kicks at his legs but he merely grinned at her as though this was all some game.
The chapel was small and austere with white-washed walls and a wooden cross standing under a window at the far end. Some of de Clare’s men remained outside but others followed them in, one of them dragging someone with a sack over their head.
“What is the meaning of this?” a voice said from within the sack. “Who are ye? What do ye want with me?”
The figure was dragged to the altar and the sack removed. An elderly man with white hair looked around, eyes going wide as they took in de Clare and his men and then Gretchen.
“Father,” de Clare said, inclining his head. “I apologize for the nature of your journey here. My lady and I couldn’t wait and required absolute secrecy.”
The priest looked from de Clare to Gretchen and back again. “Secrecy? For what, my son?”
“Our wedding of course!” de Clare smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re going to marry us. Now.”
“No!” Gretchen screamed. “I’ll never marry you! Let me go, you crazy asshole!”
She yanked her arm from his grip, spun around and sprinted for the door. She hadn’t gone more than five paces before one of de Clare’s men grabbed her and backhanded her so hard her legs turned to jelly and she felt dizzy. He dragged her back to the altar.
“I willnae do it!” the priest cried. “Let the lass go. She clearly doesnae want to marry ye. I’ll nay force her to it.”
De Clare moved like lightning. One moment he was standing by Gretchen, the next he had the priest pinned against the altar, his knife pressed against the man’s throat.
“You will do it,” de Clare grated. “Unless you want to meet your maker today.”
The priest looked down at the knife then his eyes sought Gretchen’s. Terror filled them. He seemed to sag. “Very well. God forgive me, I’ll do it.”
The man holding Gretchen pulled her forward until she was standing right in front of the altar.
The priest began speaking. Gretchen recognized the words as those of a marriage ceremony. Fear exploded along her nerves like freezing water. Her heart hammered in her ribs. Her pulse drummed in her ears. She had to get away. She had to!
But her head still rang from the blow she’d taken earlier. Her legs still felt weak and shaky. When she lifted her head to glare at the priest, her vision was blurred.
Where are you, Ewan? she thought. Come and get me. Rescue me from this nightmare. Please.
“Will ye take this woman to wife?” the priest said the ritual words to de Clare.
“Yes, yes, of course,” he snapped. “Get on with it.”
The priest turned to look at Gretchen. There was pure misery in his eyes. “Will ye take this man to husband? Will ye swear to obey him? To love him?”
“Never!” Gretchen hissed.
A fist smashed into her chin and she crashed to her knees. The stone floor felt cold and damp under her palms. “Never,” she groaned. “Never.”
De Clare was suddenly there, holding her chin in a vise-like grip. “Say the words,” he grated. “Say them or you’ll wish you’d never been born.”
“Go to hell,” Gretchen mumbled.
De Clare’s face turned white with fury. His hand curled into a fist and he raised it above her head, ready to strike her again. “I’ll teach you obedience, woman,” he snarled.
She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the blow but at that moment a sound came from outside. It was a deep rumbling noise, getting closer.
Horses!
She opened her eyes, hope soaring through her. Ewan! It must be!
“In here!” she screamed. “We’re in here!”
“How the hell did he find us?” de Clare hissed. His fist crashed against her temple, sending her vision swimming. She was yanked to her feet and then dragged behind the altar.
The door suddenly burst open and a figure stood there, silhouetted against the light.
“Ewan!” she screamed.
“Gretchen!” he roared.
He stepped forward, blade swinging but de Clare’s men converged on him, forcing him back through the door.
“Dinna spill blood in the House of God!” the priest cried, making the sign of the cross on his breast.
“Is there another way out of here?” de Clare snarled at him.
“Aye—the postern door. Over there.”
De Clare grunted and dragged Gretchen over to the corner. Sure enough, a small door sat there, no higher than she was. De Clare shot the bolt and pulled it open, stepping through and dragging her behind him. Gretchen kicked and punched at him but her limbs were still weak and de Clare barely seemed to notice.
They emerged behind the chapel. The lake spread out ahead. Off to the right a path led around the edge of the lake, almost hidden by several large willow trees. De Clare paused, listening. From the other side of the chapel came the sound of fighting—the clash of steel, the whinnying of horses.
“Come on,” de Clare growled.
He set off, pulling Gretchen behind him.
“Let me go!” she hissed. “Let me go!”
He ignored her. His grip was like iron, his strength frightening. In only moments they’d left the chapel behind and were hurrying along the lake-side track, soon hidden from view by the hanging branches of the willow trees.
Terror churned in Gretchen’s belly. Terror and something else—anger. Outraged fury sped along her nerves. How dare he do this to her? How the hell dare he? If he thought she’d come quietly, he’d better think again! Her mind whirled furiously. She had to do something. But what?
She realized the track was climbing. To her left was a steepening hillside that led down to the shore below. And
just ahead a second track joined this one, cutting down the hillside to the lakeshore. If she could somehow get free and scramble down that track she might be able to double back along the lakeshore towards Ewan. It was risky but it was the only plan she had.
She went limp in de Clare’s grasp, following him meekly. Just as she’d hoped, his grip on her arm slackened a little.
Gretchen took her chance.
With all her strength she threw her weight backwards. De Clare’s grip broke and Gretchen darted away, sprinting for the hillside. She’d almost reached it when something collided with the back of her legs and she went crashing to the ground. A weight pinned her down, knocking the breath from her, and then she was suddenly flipped onto her back. She found herself looking up into Richard de Clare’s face. He was straddling her chest, a crazed, furious look on his face.
“Here’s me thinking we could live happily ever after.” He shrugged and drew a knife. “Ah well, there goes another dream.”
Gretchen screamed as he raised the knife above her head.
Then something smacked into Richard, sending him tumbling away from her. Gretchen scrambled to her feet to find Richard and Ewan wrestling each other. Richard had hold of his knife two-handed and was trying to stab Ewan in the chest. Ewan had caught him by the wrists and now both men strained, the knife point hovering between them.
Instinct took over. Without thinking Gretchen launched herself at Richard de Clare, landing a savage kick into his kidneys. He grunted and his grip on the knife slackened. Ewan drove his elbow into de Clare’s face and then scrambled to his feet.
“Get behind me!” he roared at Gretchen, grabbing his sword from where it had fallen in the grass.
Richard de Clare glared at Ewan and climbed slowly to his feet. Blood was streaming from his nose. De Clare wiped it on his sleeve. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled.
“Ye will be the one facing a reckoning today,” Ewan snarled. “Time to pay for everything ye’ve done. Yer crimes. Yer betrayal. Ye are a poison, de Clare, and it’s time that poison was cut out.”
Richard howled in fury and threw himself at Ewan. They traded a series of lightning blows, their blades a silver blur. Gretchen gasped as she saw a red line open along Ewan’s cheek but he hardly seemed to notice. He parried de Clare’s blows and then launched an attack of his own, his blade flicking through de Clare’s defenses in a barrage of deadly strikes.
Richard staggered backwards, his parries becoming wilder. It was clear that Ewan was the better swordsman. Unlike on the training field, this time Ewan held nothing back. He moved with feline grace, spinning, ducking, striking with the speed of a viper.
“Damn you,” de Clare gasped. “Damn all of you.”
He lashed out, his sword going low, slicing across Ewan’s hamstring. With a howl, Ewan crashed to one knee.
“No!” Gretchen screamed.
Sensing victory, de Clare smiled, swinging his weapon at Ewan’s neck. But at the last second Ewan ducked under the blade, bellowed in pain as he pushed forward off his injured leg and rammed his sword into Richard de Clare’s chest.
De Clare’s eyes went wide and he stared down at the sharp metal impaling him. His gaze found Ewan and he glared pure hatred at him for a moment before his eyes glazed over and he slid backwards to slump lifeless into the dirt.
For a second nobody moved. Gretchen took in the frozen tableau, Ewan standing over his fallen enemy, Richard de Clare lying at his feet. Then Ewan moved, sheathing his sword and turning towards her.
She flew into his arms. He grunted as she threw her arms around him, holding him tight, burying her face in his chest. His strong arms held her tight, one hand gently stroking her hair.
“It’s all right, love,” he whispered. “It’s over. I’m here.”
Footsteps sounded behind them and Gretchen peered over Ewan’s shoulder to see Quinn MacFarlane approaching. He took one look at de Clare and nodded.
“Most of his men have fled. Robert and Connail have subdued the rest and tied them up. What do ye want to do with them?”
Ewan nodded. “Rope them together. We’ll take them back to Dun Carrick for a trial.”
Quinn knelt by de Clare then reached forward and closed the man’s eyes. He sighed. “I’ve had my fill of the de Clare’s and that’s no mistake,” he said. “Let’s hope the strife between our two clans is over now.”
Ewan nodded. “It’s over. Ye have my thanks for yer aid.”
Quinn shrugged. “Ye can pay me back by plying me with ale when we come a-visiting.”
Ewan grinned. “Agreed.”
He pushed Gretchen to arm’s length and looked her over. “What say we go home, love?”
Gretchen closed her eyes and let out a long breath. “Home,” she breathed, trying out the word. “That sounds wonderful.”
Chapter 18
ROSE HAD DONE AN AMAZING job. As she gazed at herself in the mirror, Gretchen let out a sigh of contentment. She looked perfect. The hair, the nails.
The dress.
Oh my, the dress. Gretchen would never have believed tailors in the sixteenth century could make something so beautiful. It was white, of course—Gretchen had insisted on that—with a tight bodice and flaring skirt, embroidered all around with tiny white flowers, so delicate they almost looked real.
Rose clapped her hands. “Ewan is a lucky man, my lady. Um, Gretchen, I mean.”
Gretchen raised an eyebrow at her maid. “Yes, he is, isn’t he?”
They both dissolved into fits of giggles and Gretchen suddenly felt as giddy as a school girl. This was happening. Oh God, this was really happening.
There was a knock on the door then Darcy, Amy and Isabelle marched in. They wore gowns that matched Gretchen’s in style but were a dusky pink color instead.
Amy frowned, adjusting the neckline. “It itches,” she grumbled.
Gretchen laughed and the other two rolled their eyes. Amy had jumped at the chance of being Gretchen’s bridesmaid, along with Darcy and Isabelle, but Gretchen knew she’d have thought twice if she realized wearing a dress was involved.
Darcy swept up to Gretchen. Her baby bump was a little more pronounced but she had rosy cheeks and looked in the flush of health. She smiled warmly at Gretchen, eyes sparkling.
“Wow. Oh wow. Ewan will be drooling when he sees you in that.”
“I hope not! I’m told drool stains never come out!”
“Who’d have thought it?” Darcy said quietly, so the others couldn’t hear. “The two of us here, together? The two of us finding our heart’s desire in sixteenth century Scotland? It’s crazy how things work out. How will you cope without the Internet? Without coffee? Without chocolate?”
“Stop it!” Gretchen told her friend. “Are you trying to give me cold feet or what?”
She was only kidding though. Sure, there’d be things about home she missed: cable TV, wine bars, shopping. But they were only superficial things. The real things, the things that mattered, she’d found here in sixteenth century Scotland. Family. Friendship. Belonging.
Love.
The thought of Ewan made her heart swell. Ewan. Her beautiful Ewan. And in a few short hours he’d be hers forever.
She recalled the words Irene MacAskill had said to her on that fateful night when the strange old woman had appeared in her life.
Ye just might be able to avert a disaster and who knows, ye might find yer heart’s desire in the process.
She hadn’t seen her since but her words had been playing on Gretchen’s mind of late. Had she done what she’d been sent here to do? Had she averted the disaster Irene had spoken of? She assumed she meant the impending war between the Murray and MacFarlane clans but Gretchen couldn’t help feeling there was unfinished business between herself and the strange old woman.
“Ready?” Darcy said.
Gretchen drew in a deep breath, looked from Darcy to Amy to Isabelle to Rose and then let it out slowly.
“Ready.”
They swept ou
t of the room, Darcy walking arm-in-arm with Gretchen, Amy and Isabelle following behind. The castle was largely empty, with everyone already gathered outside for the ceremony. As they emerged from the keep Gretchen drew in a breath of the summer air. It was a beautiful day with a vaulted blue sky above and tiny wisps of cloud riding high.
The perfect day for a wedding.
The Murray clan, and a good few of the MacFarlane clan as well, were assembled on the river bank. They parted for Gretchen, forming an aisle which they’d strewn with flowers. As the crowd moved apart, Gretchen saw Ewan standing under the ribbon-covered archway that spanned the altar. He wore the traditional Murray plaid and Connail stood by his side.
He turned as Gretchen approached. Her heart skipped at the sight of him. That beautiful, chiseled face. That glossy hair, dark as a raven’s wing. Those eyes, so deep she could drown in them. For a moment he just stared at her as he drank her in. Then he smiled, a smile of pure joy, and she found herself smiling in response.
He watched her all the way down the aisle. Gretchen was dimly aware of the folk around her but she had eyes only for Ewan. They could have been the only people in the whole world. She reached his side and stood staring up at him. Ewan gazed at her, adoration dancing in his eyes.
Merith cleared her throat and they both jumped, turning to face her. She smiled broadly at them then lifted her chin and addressed the gathering.
“Ye all know why we are here,” she announced. “Tis one of the most joyous duties of a laird to conduct a wedding. This one is extra special as my troublesome cousin has finally found a lass to tame him.”
There was a round of cheering at this and Ewan scowled at the crowd in mock outrage.
“But joking aside,” Merith continued. “I owe both Ewan and Gretchen a great debt, as do we all gathered here today. So I’m sure ye’ll all join me in wishing them all the happiness in the world.”
There was even more cheering.
“Ewan, do ye have the handfasting plaid?”
Ewan nodded, took out a piece of Murray plaid then wrapped it around his and Gretchen’s intertwined hands.
