He landed with a hard thud as the horse holding the lass and MacDougall reared up. The lass screamed, and Demaskas tried to withdraw his weapon, but Grant squeezed between the beast and the rock and plunged his sword into his enemy’s gut. The guard fell sideways off the horse and down to the water below. Grant did not have time to ensure the man had met his maker, but he prayed he had.
“Dunnae shoot the Decres wench!” Aros barked, and an arrow flew at Grant, skimming his shoulder.
“What’s your plan?” the lass demanded, her eyes flashing impatience. She did not wait for his answer but slid off the horse and moved to stand in front of Grant, holding her arms out to either of his sides.
What the devil?
He frowned as realization struck: she was trying to protect him. He gaped at her but shook off his surprise as his enemies quickly approached.
“We jump,” he said simply, sure he’d have to force her, but she nodded and launched herself without hesitation toward the water below. Once again, the heather-eyed lass had rendered him frozen in place. Her hair flew up behind her as she fell at a rapid pace to the turning sea. He’d never met a more reckless lass in his life, he thought as he followed her off the cliff.
Chapter Seven
“Why was Aros trying to force ye to wed him?” Grant asked Eve. It was the same question he’d posed since the moment his feet had hit dry land, and she had refused to answer the inquiry, nor would she tell him her last name. In fact, all the lass had shared was that she was not injured and that she needed a horse immediately.
Grant stared at the drenched woman standing before him in the great hall. Her long, flaming hair clung to her neck in wet strands and her gown molded to her chest, the lush outline of her breasts clearly visible. She crossed her arms over her chest, but instead of covering her cleavage, her crossed arms had only lifted the orbs, which looked like two ripe melons. This was the most inopportune time to lust after her, but lust cared little for convenience.
Grant’s loins tightened as he jerked his gaze away from the woman’s breasts and met her eyes. Their startling, exceptional color sent another shaft of astonishment through him, and then irritation as she lowered her lashes, no doubt so he could not determine what she was thinking.
The water dripping from her gown hit the floor with a pattering sound that made Grant clench his teeth. He never lost control, but at the moment, his hold on his temper was by a lone silk strand as thin as a spider’s web. Since he and the lass had swum in from the sea and made their way to the great hall, he’d received nothing but bad tidings. He checked them off in his mind as he decided how to proceed with Eve and the MacDougalls. First, Kade had managed to catch up to the MacDougalls and kill three of them; unfortunately, neither Aros nor his father could be counted among the felled. Grant still had every intention of obtaining vengeance for Simon, but now it was a matter of how and when.
Second, Thomas and Allisdair had not gone to the castle and sought shelter as they had been instructed. Those two muleheaded clot-heids had tried to steal horses from the stables to join in the fight, but Ross had intercepted them and had sent them to the thief’s hole to put the fear of God in them. He’d learned all of this from Bryden and Ross in the time it had taken for him and Eve to walk from the courtyard to the great hall. What to do with Allisdair and Thomas was simple, at least. As soon as Ross returned from the thief’s hole with the two troublemakers, they would be ordered to work in the stables shoveling horse manure, just as his own father had ordered him to do when he’d been an unruly lad. Then they’d spend their days bringing water to the guards who trained, and their nights emptying chamber pots.
The lass with the rosy, bow-shaped mouth that sullenly turned down at the corners was his biggest problem. He hoped Thomas and Allisdair knew why Aros had wanted to wed her because asking her directly wasn’t working. Trying a new tactic, he cleared his throat, aware Bryden was staring at him expectantly, as if he ought to force the answers out of the lass. But Grant was not the sort to raise a hand to a woman. “I’d like an answer, Eve, but if ye dunnae wish to tell me, at least give me yer last name.”
She snapped her eyes to his. For a moment he thought she looked afraid, possibly of him, but on closer inspection, the emotion he saw was smugness. She smirked at him. “Do you think I’m a fool?” she asked, her voice low and husky. Her voice stirred his desire just as much as her appearance. She plunked her hands on her hips. “If I give you my last name, you will learn things that are none of your concern.”
He fixed her with the glare he often used on his siblings, and her smirk wavered, much to his satisfaction. Her pretty lips formed an O. “Ye are on my land, in my home, under my protection,” he said, “and I just saved yer arse, so everything about ye is my concern.”
“Well, Lord Fr—”
“Laird,” he corrected. She did not know much about Scots if she did not even realize his people used laird instead of lord.
“Laird,” she said, drawing the word out and eliciting a snicker from Bryden, which died on his lips when Grant scowled at him. “I did not ask to be dragged from the sea, brought onto your land, and into your home, and I certainly do not want your protection.”
He arched his eyebrows at her, and much to his surprise and a bit of amusement, she matched the gesture by cocking up her own red brows. She may be English, but she looked like a Scottish lass—and she sure as the devil acted like one. She had to have some Scot in her with that blazing hair and fiery attitude.
He crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking her stance, and her mouth slipped open. Without hesitation, he took advantage of the discomfiture he’d caused her. “Ye did, in fact, ask me of my plan,” he reminded her, almost laughing at the dismay that swept across her face.
She quirked her mouth and appeared to be considering what he’d said. After a moment, she spoke. “When I asked your plan, I was clearly inquiring about the one to get away from the MacDougalls.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and her wet, heavy tresses smacked against her back. “I assumed you knew the best chance we had, considering this is your home. I told you in the water that I needed to depart immediately, if you would but loan me a horse. I have to get to someone before Aros does.”
Before Grant could respond, the door flung open and Ross prodded Thomas and Allisdair through. The boys both had stubborn looks on their faces, but the minute Thomas saw Eve, he grinned and ran to her, launching himself into her arms. “Thank God, ye’re alive!”
When Thomas pulled away from Eve, Grant saw the bemused look of adoration on his brother’s face, and no wonder. Thomas was a lad on the verge of manhood and before him stood a beautiful lass who’d risked herself to save him. She’d clearly won Thomas’s affection.
Her rich, hearty laugh set a peculiar warmth in the upper region of Grant’s chest. “I can say the same about you,” Eve replied, ruffling Thomas’s hair as if they had known each other forever. Thomas’s cheeks turned pink at her attention.
“I’m glad ye’re alive, too,” Allisdair said, then came to Eve’s side and gave her an awkward hug and the same look of adoration that Thomas wore.
Grant and Ross exchanged a knowing look. Thomas and Allisdair were most definitely smitten with Eve.
Grant cleared his throat, having not the time for niceties at the moment. “Thomas, tell me how ye ended up in Aros’s clutches,” he asked, figuring his brother would let Eve’s identity slip in the process of answering.
Thomas flushed guiltily. At least the lad had the good sense to feel bad about disobeying orders. “We wanted to help ye,” Thomas said.
“Explain, please,” Grant replied, determined to stay patient.
“Well, we decided to follow ye to help ye aid Simon.” For one moment, Thomas looked as if he would break down, and Grant felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. His grief twisted within him, as Thomas struggled with his and finally mastered it. His shoulders went back and determination set his mouth into a thin line.
Allisdair glanced at Thomas with a look of understanding. “We wanted to help ye, but we got lost.”
“We ended up in England but nae where we intended. Then we saw Aros at the head of a party of his men, and we kenned God had granted us a boon,” Thomas finished.
Grant rolled his eyes at his brother’s naivete. “God did nae grant ye a boon, ye clot-heid!”
A tsk came from Eve. “God works in mysterious ways, Lord—errr, Laird Fraser. Do not presume to know his mind.”
He frowned at the lady. It was true her bravery and boldness had impressed him, but it would not do for her to think she could chastise him in front of his brother and men. “When I wish ye to speak, lass, ye’ll ken it.”
“Barbarian Highlander,” she muttered under her breath as she turned her head away. But she’d not spoken so low that he had not heard it.
“What did ye say?” he demanded, sure she’d be too fearful to repeat it in a louder tone.
She faced him once more, her eyes sparking with ire. “I said, you are a barbarian Highlander.”
He swept his hand toward his brother and Allisdair. “Am I to assume ye consider all Highlanders barbarians?”
She opened and closed her mouth several times, looking much like a fish struggling for breath. “Highlanders killed my parents and my sister,” she said, her voice cold.
Grant frowned. “Why do ye believe that?”
“Because I—Just because,” she finished, looking uncomfortable.
“Do ye hate all Highlanders, Eve?” Grant demanded, motioning to the lads.
Eve looked stricken then quickly shook her head as she focused on Thomas and Allisdair. “No! Thomas, you know I don’t! We spoke of this. Allisdair, the two of you are still lads with pure hearts. See that you keep them that way.” She gifted each of the boys with the loveliest smile Grant had ever seen, and they nodded like puppies, joyful for her attention. Her face was radiant, as if a beam of sunshine came from within her.
“How generous of ye,” Grant said, feeling his lips curl into a smirk.
Her response was to scowl at him. Though, God’s truth, the banter with the woman did amuse him in a way that was very surprising. Still, he did not have time to indulge in it. He needed answers. He gave Thomas a stern look. “Am I to ken that ye saw Aros, recognized him, and thought to attack him?”
“Thomas did not say that!” Eve protested, clearly offended on Thomas’s behalf that Grant would think his brother would make such a foolish decision. Her loyalty to a lad she hardly knew touched something deep within him. His mother had been like that—a woman prone to trust people easily. In the end, it had cost both her and his father their lives.
Thomas’s cheeks splotched ruby red with his embarrassment, and he shuffled his feet back and forth. “Thomas,” Grant said in a prodding tone, “my patience is becoming thin.”
Thomas hung his head forward. “Aye. We tried to sneak into their camp to attack, and we were caught.” He raised his head and eyed Allisdair. “’Twas nae my fault we were caught,” Thomas said, his tone accusing and sullen.
“Are ye saying it was mine?” Allisdair asked, his eyes now narrowed on Thomas.
Thomas matched Allisdair’s expression. “I did nae say it, but ’tis telling, dunnae ye think, that ye immediately thought that. As if ye feel guilt.”
Allisdair curled his hands into fists and raised them. “I’ll punch ye for accusing me of—”
“Boys,” Eve said in a stern tone before Grant could get any words out. “Fighting amongst yourselves helps nothing. I suggest you put the matter behind you and work together to train to be better warriors all-around.”
Grant watched in fascination as the boys both immediately offered nods of agreement. “Will ye train us, Eve?” Thomas asked.
“Ah, she kinnae,” Grant, seizing his chance to get the information he had been after. “Eve must leave today to go to someone else’s aid.”
Eve nodded her head, and Thomas said, “We must accompany her, Grant. She would nae be safe traveling alone, and we formed an alliance.”
Eve paled. “Oh, that won’t be necessary. I—”
“It will!” both boys said in unison.
Thomas nodded vigorously. “Aros will nae stop trying to wed ye since ye’re the—”
“Thomas!” Eve’s voice echoed in the room. “Your brother has more important matters to attend to than listening to my life story.”
“Nae at this moment,” Grant said pleasantly, to which Eve twisted her hands and scowled. When an uncertain look crossed Thomas’s face, Grant added, “Ye would nae wish to send Eve into danger, would ye?”
“Oh,” Eve moaned. “That’s very manipulative.”
Grant grinned at her as Thomas started to talk again. “Lady Eve is the heiress to Linlithian Castle.”
“Oh, Thomas!” Eve paled, clearly distraught that he had announced her identity.
Grant locked gazes with Ross and Bryden, and they all turned to Eve, who took a step back, looking like a rabbit being hunted by a fox. Suddenly, Grant remembered the story of Linlithian, a strategically located castle that sat on the border between England and Scotland in the Valley of Blood. Whoever held that castle could well decide who passed through the valley, be them Scots or Englishmen, because whoever wished to pass through the valley could not do so without passing the castle guards. The King of England had given the castle to a Lord Decres, an Englishman who had been friend to both the Scottish and English. For what, Grant could not recall at the moment, but it made no real difference now.
What mattered, what could aid the Scottish in winning the war against the English, would be possessing that castle. King Edward himself had declared that should Decres’s heir be a girl, she could rule the castle in her own right upon reaching eighteen summers until the day she was wed. Then the castle would become the property of her husband. But the two young Decres daughters had disappeared when her father’s castle had been invaded, and Lord and Lady Decres murdered. Lord Decres’s men and the girls’ uncle had searched for them but had never found them, according to what Grant had heard. None seemed to know anything for certain, however, except that the heiress of Linlithian was gone and her uncle ruled her castle in her place. Whoever wed Eve Decres would inherit her castle, and if they had the mettle and Eve’s aid, they could command the loyalty of the men who protected Linlithian, as they had been Lord Decres’s men.
Grant understood perfectly now why Aros wanted to wed Eve. Grant shifted his stance as his thoughts turned. There was an opportunity here to turn the tide of war for Bruce and the Scottish cause and to get the justice he wished for against the MacDougalls. If he commanded his men and Eve’s, Aros and his father would never escape justice, and Grant could aid Bruce in keeping his throne. Grant allowed his gaze to wander over Eve. He’d honestly not given any thought to wedding anyone. The only time he’d ever considered taking a wife had been when he’d met Lillianna de Burgh, who had married Ross’s eldest brother, Angus. And the only reason he’d thought of it had been because she was in desperate need. He had not pondered wedding beyond that. But now he was. He did not know Eve, but it mattered little. He’d wed the devil himself to avenge Simon’s death and keep Scotland free from the king of England’s rule, and Eve was much lovelier than any imaginings he’d ever had of the devil.
But he had to know without a doubt that she was the lost heiress. He started humming to himself, trying to recall the songs he’d heard about her. Her brow wrinkled as she stared at him. Then he started to sing. “And the wee lass with eyes the color of heather, she was so fair it would make a man weep.” Eve gasped and started to take another step back, but Grant grasped her wrist as more of the old song came to him. “And the wee lass shone bright, she did, she did, sparked by the mark of the moon on her wrist.”
Eve tugged at her wrist, but Grant held her firmly. He tried to keep his grip gentle, not wanting to scare her more than she likely already was, as he tugged up the sleeve of her gown and turned her delicate arm
over to see the thin skin of her inner wrist. There, in the center of her wrist, was the mark of a half-moon. He drew his eyes to her face, surprised to see not a trace of fear there, only depths of bitterness.
Before he could speak, Eve said, “I will never utter the words of consent you need to wed me. You cannot force me.” Her tone was strong up until the very last word, which trembled.
It was that slight revelation that the lass was fearful and determined that filled him with regret for what must be done, but regret could not deter him. Still, he would rather not be enemies with a woman he would take to wife. “I would nae ever force a lass to wed me, Eve.” He’d chosen his words carefully, well aware he would be manipulating her into wedding him, but there was no help for it. He’d made a vow to avenge his brother and a vow to Bruce to do all in his power to aid the Scottish cause. He meant to see both vows through, as was his duty not only as laird but as a man of honor. “When we wed, it will be because ye willingly consent to be my wife.”
Her response was quick as her open palm smacked his cheek with a whack that seemed to resound in the complete silence of the room. She hit surprisingly hard for such a petite lass. His cheek stung with her effort.
He sighed inwardly. This was not a good start to getting her on his side, and he’d need her there eventually to help sway her father’s men. Funnily, he wasn’t angry at her for hitting him; he understood how she must feel. But she’d not want to hear that, so he said, “It’s good to ken ye’re a braw lass. Ye’ll need to be as my wife.”
“Do you mean to hold me prisoner until I agree?” she demanded, her tone vibrating with anger.
“I’m nae the sort of man to hold a woman prisoner.” And he meant it. He was not Aros. He would treat Eve with respect and care as his wife and protect her always. He motioned to the door. “Ye’re free to leave.”
Highland Avenger Page 8
