Table of Contents
Grant Family Tree
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Dear Readers
Also By
About the Author
THE GRANT FAMILY TREE
ALEXANDER GRANT and wife, MADDIE
John (Jake) and wife, Aline – both deceased
Alasdair and wife, Emmalin—John and Ailith
James (Jamie) and wife, Gracie
Elshander and wife, Joya
Alaric
Jowell
Merelda
Maryell
Kyla and husband, Finlay
Alick and wife, Branwen
Paden
Broc
Chrissa
Connor and wife, Sela
Dyna and husband, Derric-daughter Tora
Claray (half-sister)
Hagen
Astra
Morgan
Elizabeth and husband
Maeve and husband
Prologue
1314, the Highlands of Scotland
Alexander Grant closed his eyes, hoping he’d be blessed with a visit from his wife, who had passed on before him. She came to him in his dreams, something that happened no more than twice a moon. He treasured each instance, holding the feelings close to his heart.
A mist appeared at the opposite side of his chamber, and he climbed out of bed, praying it was his wife.
“I’m here, Alex.”
Her voice came to him in a soft whisper, the same voice she had used with him in bed after their lovemaking, talking quietly so as not to awaken the bairns down the passageway.
“I miss you so, Maddie.” Her voice, her scent, his memories…they nearly undid him.
“Alex, is that a tear? Oh, Alex, do not cry. ’Twill not be long now, I promise.”
“Maddie, when will you trust our bairns and grandbairns to do battle on their own, to see Scotland move ahead with the skills and sense we’ve raised them with? I’m nearly eighty summers, love. My bones pain me daily now, and I can no longer use my sword. My movements are slowing.”
“But you can still use your mind. Do you recall long ago when your mother spoke to you about the fae?” She moved closer and reached out to brush the wetness from his cheek. Her gown was the heavily brocaded green one she used to wear at the holidays, gold thread stitched into the bodice. She even carried the scent of the pine boughs she used to carefully arrange around the great hall.
Forcing himself to listen, he thought back to his mother’s stories. “Aye, she always told Brenna and me that the fae would help protect this land from evil, but they would sometimes need a wee bit of help from us.”
“And do you recall Avelina’s power?”
“Aye, she was chosen by the fae to wield the power in their relic, the sapphire sword, and to protect it until she passes it on.”
She stepped into his arms, her finger tracing his jawline. “You are as handsome now as ever, Alexander Grant.”
As soon as she touched him, his aches and pains disappeared. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her slowly, savoring her. She was the one who pulled away, a look of regret on her face. “Alex, the time has come for Avelina to pass along the protectorship of the sword. She will bring it to you. ’Tis up to you to choose who will hold its power.”
“Tell me who should wield it, and I will see to it, Maddie.”
“You must determine that. I cannot do it for you, but I trust your judgment.” Her expression turned solemn. “The sword will be needed soon. A big battle is coming, Alex. If all goes well, King Robert will finally send the English back home. You’ll finally understand our grandbairns’ power.”
She moved back until their gazes locked. “But you’re needed for something far more important to me. Please be patient, husband.”
“Anything for you. What has you worried this time?”
“There are two more problems. One is that an evil force plans to overtake Grant Castle, and the other problem is much, much worse.”
“What could be worse in your eyes?” he asked, cupping her cheek and rubbing the pad of his thumb lightly across her soft skin.
She leaned into his touch and sighed. “Soon, Alex.”
“But our descendants are completely capable of protecting our castle, of attacking any force that tries to overtake our castle. You know that.”
“I believe you are correct. You’ve done a fine job training our clan.”
“We, Maddie. We trained our clan, our bairns, our grandbairns. We did it together.”
“Aye, but this new threat is too awful for me to take a chance.”
“What could possibly be worse than the last battle for the Scottish Crown or someone trying to overtake our castle?”
He watched as tears flooded her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, something he hadn’t seen in a long, long time. “What is it, Maddie?” He kissed one of her tears away. “I’ll do it, whatever ’tis. Just stop crying.”
“The Ramsays and Grants will attack each other.”
He froze, simply because he hadn’t expected that answer at all. She was right that it was the worst outcome he could imagine. Their descendants dead at the hands of Clan Ramsay? His descendants killing the sons and daughters of his friends? His head hurt from the implications. Stopping his soft ministrations to his wife’s smooth skin, he cursed. “I didn’t think there was anything that could make me wish to stay, but you’ve done it.”
“You must stop it from happening, Alex.”
She stepped away, moving backward, parts of her image flickering into nothingness as she moved.
He couldn’t argue this time.
He had to stay.
“Soon, Alex,” were her last words.
Chapter One
Late May 1314, The Highlands of Scotland
Drostan made his way to the lists, a smile crossing his face as soon as he saw the lasses walking ahead of him. Dyna, the laird’s daughter, was leading a group of archers to the practice range, and the sight of Chrissa Grant in her leggings and tunic always made his day a wee bit brighter. The way the garment molded against her bottom when she aimed at her target enticed him, but not as much as watching her let loose a succession of perfect shots, her arm and leg muscles rippling with the movement. He enjoyed watching her amazing ability, even in the practice field.
His interest in Chrissa went far beyond all the hours they spent together honing their fighting skills, but she had a warrior’s spirit, fierce and independent. She wasn’t the kind of lass who would be impressed by pretty words or gifts.
“Chrissa, do you think you can better me today?” Dyna asked.
Chrissa’s sister-in-law, Branwen, who was several months pregnant, said, “Even I could beat you, Dyna. You’ve been sloppy lately. Too busy watching your husband’s arse.”
Chrissa giggled and Dyna said, “Guilty. Guilty of that
every single day. And I’ll not apologize for it.”
Would Chrissa reveal whose arse she liked watching? Could he dare hope it was his?
At two and twenty, he was ready for marriage—part of him felt it had to happen this year—but he had no idea how to go about changing his friendship with Chrissa. He’d hung back for fear of losing her. Because if marrying someone else was an unacceptable thought, losing her was an even less desirable outcome.
Chrissa said, “I’ve been practicing. I think I can beat you and Branwen.”
“You only need to worry about me,” Dyna said. “With Branwen’s big belly, she’ll be lucky if she can shoot anything. Think you she can keep still long enough to nock an arrow? Or will she fall over and roll down the hill?”
Branwen threw her head back and let out a belly laugh.
“Be careful,” Dyna called out. “I’m not bringing that bairn into this world.”
Alick Grant came running past Drostan, making his way through the group until he reached his wife. He kissed the back of Branwen’s head. “Come on, wife. Show them who is the best archer.”
She laughed and tilted her head toward Chrissa. Alick quickly said, “Sorry, sister. I was just teasing. You’ll probably be able to beat her. For now.”
Chrissa’s brother was a fierce warrior with a massive chest and a wide set of shoulders. Surely he’d expect any of Chrissa’s suitors to be equally fierce. And then there was her grandsire, who used to be known as the fiercest warrior and best swordsman in the Highlands.
To court Chrissa, he’d have to be fierce and strong.
Practice, practice, practice.
It was the only way he could prove himself to her grandsire, sire, and brothers. Of course, he would still have to find some way to earn the esteem of her mother, the bold sister of the lairds, something he suspected would be even more difficult.
Although it was tempting to watch the lasses’ archery practice, he continued on to the lists. Alick had gone ahead of him. Two of the very best warriors were leading the practice—Connor Grant, one of the lairds, and Dyna’s husband, Derric Corbett.
Corbett barked at him as soon as he entered the area. “Chisholm, you will go against Alick.”
Hell, but he’d be well challenged. He nodded in acceptance and moved over to the area Alick had claimed, lifting his sword over his head to loosen his muscles.
They’d only taken three swings at each other when a sound rent the air that sent both Alick and Drostan running toward the archery field. Chrissa let out a squeal and yelled, “Leave me be!”
The front of the archery field was next to the lists, though the archers shot far out. If she’d been attacked picking up arrows, they never would have heard her.
Drostan had no idea who had dared to touch her, but he’d break every single one of the bastard’s fingers, if necessary. He bounded over the pile of straw surrounding the archery field, his gaze landing on the tall, lanky man close to Chrissa. The man looked much older than he’d expected, and he stood next to a wolfhound and two pups. Something about him was vaguely familiar, but he had no desire to stop and chat with him, especially since he’d dared to touch Chrissa. And he wouldn’t allow the details about the pups to give him pause. His impulsive nature was propelled by the memory of Chrissa’s squeal. She wasn’t a lass prone to complaining.
Drostan launched himself at the old man, throwing a fast punch at his jaw, but his target anticipated the blow and dodged it. He stepped away from the dogs, grabbed Drostan’s arm, and flipped him onto his back in a flash.
“Drostan, what are you doing?” Chrissa yelled. “He’s my cousin.” She stood over him, her bow tossed to the side and her hands on her curvaceous hips.
Drostan said, “He touched you. No one can touch you.”
Chrissa growled, a most unladylike sound, and said between clenched teeth, “He didn’t. The dog jumped on me. Oh, and just to let you know how foolish you are, meet my cousin Torrian, chieftain of Clan Ramsay. He came along with my cousins Maggie and Molly for a wee visit.”
Hellfire, but he’d gotten himself into a bind again. He knew that clenched jaw of Chrissa’s would have something to say later. And he would deserve it. Why couldn’t he learn to control his impulses? Drostan didn’t know how to get out of this situation without looking like a complete fool.
Alick, who’d come to a stop right behind him, said to Torrian, “Let him be. He and Chrissa have practiced together since they were young, so he’s a bit overprotective of her.”
Torrian laughed and let him up, offering him a boost to his feet. “I hope not to have hurt you, lad, but I’m a wee bit old to allow someone to beat my face.”
The other archers had fallen in around them, along with more observers from the lists, and Drostan felt himself blush a deep shade of red. One of the pups jumped up on his leg, its tail wagging, so he bent down to pick up the wee beast.
What else could he do?
“Chrissa, forgive me. My lord, my apologies. I thought someone was hurting her. I mean you no harm.”
He took in the crowd he’d drawn, his face growing hotter, before his gaze descended to the grey-haired pup in his arms.
“Looks to me like you’ve won yourself a pup for your foolishness, Drostan,” the Ramsay chief said with a smirk. The dog stared up at him as if to say, “Please?”
“You don’t want your puppies?” he asked Torrian, hoping the man would say he’d been jesting.
Torrian chuckled and said, “We brought a litter along, looking for homes for them. My wife, Heather, has the others in the courtyard. Looks as if you’ve been chosen as a companion. Be kind to her now, will you please? Her name is Sky because her fur has a bluish cast to it.”
Drostan sighed, but he couldn’t see any way out of it without embarrassing himself further. So he sauntered off with a wee dog clasped in his arms, yipping and licking his chest.
The pup looked at him with wide eyes, tongue hanging out. “Are you thirsty, Sky? I’ll find you some water. Will you be a good dog if I take care of you?” He’d heard that dogs loved their owners unconditionally.
If he could only be lucky enough for Chrissa to love him like that.
With that thought came another: how could he be a powerful warrior and take care of a wee pup?
***
Once Drostan was far enough not to overhear them, Chrissa muttered, “My apologies for my friend.”
“Friend?” Maggie said. “I doubt a friend would have reacted so quickly from such a distance.”
Molly added, “I’d say he has quite an attachment to you, Chrissa.”
“Nay, there’s naught between us,” she whispered, staring after Drostan. “We’ve practiced together for years. He’s just overprotective.”
But even as she said it, she second-guessed her words. Had something changed between her and Drostan? Lately, she’d found herself thinking about him more and more, yet she had no idea why. Turning back to Molly and Maggie, two of her many idols, she flipped a couple of her dark braids over her shoulder. “Will you watch us practice? Your opinion means a lot.”
Molly and Maggie were the adopted daughters of the famous archer Gwyneth Ramsay, the woman who’d trained Dyna, and although Dyna did not lack for skill, they had many more years of experience. Their cousin, the chieftain of the Ramsays, had headed back to the keep to speak with Connor and Jamie.
Dyna shouted over to her. “’Tis your turn at the target, Chrissa. Shall we see how you’re doing?” She gave her a challenging smirk. “Can you prove to our friends you’ve learned something new?”
Chrissa narrowed her gaze at Dyna, who’d always understood how to push her to better her skills—by making her angry.
She fired off a slew of arrows from her quiver, hitting near center with each one.
Molly let out a slow whistle. “King Robert will be pleased to see your skills.”
Dyna applauded her performance and joined them opposite the targets. “Always pleased to see you two, but what brin
gs you to Grant land?”
“Mama wanted us to help you train as many archers as possible before the battle at Stirling. Gavin, Merewen, and Gregor are working with our archers, so sent us here with Torrian. Word has it that King Edward has gathered tens of thousands of men to head this way, though they’re gathering in Berwick at present. They intend to destroy Robert the Bruce once and for all. If Edward has his say, we’ll never be free of the English.”
“Do your parents think we can beat that many?”
“Papa is convinced Bruce’s force will tear the English apart. He expects ’twill make Robert’s position as our king unassailable. This could be the last battle in the war.”
“I hope Mama allows me to go. I’m more than old enough to travel with the Scottish army. You will both go?” Chrissa asked Molly and Maggie.
“Oh, we’ll be there,” Maggie confirmed. “All of our best archers are coming. I just hope Mama isn’t foolish enough to try joining them.”
“But she’s still such a fine archer.”
“Mama’s shoulders are not what they used to be, and I think he’d rather see her stay home and protect the castle. He’s adamant that we need many strong warriors to stay home. If King Edward loses, he could take his anger out on the Lowlanders. Any castle he passes on his way back from Stirling would be in danger of an attack. Papa himself is coming to the battle, of course. He’s slowed down too, but he wouldn’t miss it. Our husbands will be traveling with the warriors Clan Ramsay sends to King Robert.” Maggie glanced at her sister, and Chrissa suspected she knew why. From what she’d heard, and she was always listening, Molly was feeling her years too. Her muscle pains were bad enough that they sometimes kept her from leaving Ramsay land.
Dyna narrowed her gaze and looked straight at Chrissa. “You’ll be going for certes. You, Lora, Branwen, Maggie, Molly, and as many others as we can train.”
Chrissa nearly squealed with delight. She’d longed to prove herself in battle for years, but no one had allowed it…all because she’d snuck off Grant land and followed her grandsire after her mother was kidnapped. True, she’d been little more than a child at the time, but no one could convince her it was anything but an overreaction.
The Scot's Deception (Highland Swords Book 5) Page 1
