Highland Avenger

by Julie Johnstone

  “And leave ye to fight the battle here alone while the English king gathers strength out of reach of his enemies? Nay. That is nae my way. I will stay by yer side as long as ye will have me.”

  “It’s decided, then,” Grant said by way of thanks. His father had always taught them to restrain their emotions, and though Grant had once rebelled against nearly everything his father had taught him, he was wiser now. “We will leave for Dithorn as soon as I collect Eve. I’ll meet ye both in the courtyard.”

  Kade nodded, but Ross fell into step beside Grant as he exited the chapel to find Eve. Grant paused in the passageway outside the chapel and looked at Ross. “Ye’ve something to say?”

  “Dunnae ye think Eve will balk at being taken back to Dithorn?” Ross asked, concern in his voice.

  “Aye,” Grant acknowledged, “I do. But Eve is my wife now, so she will do as I bid.” When Ross burst into laughter, Grant quirked a brow. “What?”

  “I dunnae claim to ken much about how a lass’s mind works, but I can tell ye from observing my brother Angus with his wife, Lillianna, that just because Eve is yer wife dunnae mean she’ll do as ye bid. In fact, as far as I can tell, it makes it more likely that she will nae, so prepare yerself.”

  “I can manage my wife,” Grant said confidently. “Mark my words.”

  “I’ll remind ye of that,” Ross replied with a wink.

  “What in God’s name do ye mean she’s gone?” Grant roared at the abbess, not feeling the least bit guilty about it. The woman had put him off for near to an hour, telling him that Eve had felt ill and had lain down, and now he knew it was because the conniving nun had been trying to give his wife a good head start on escaping him. He gritted his teeth as Ross smirked at him, and Grant recalled his earlier words about managing Eve. “Where has she gone?” he bit out, though he was almost certain that Eve was trying to make her way to Linlithian. The idea of her undertaking the journey alone set ice in his veins.

  The abbess leveled him with an annoyingly calm look. “I could not say—”

  He waved a silencing hand at her. He could see he would have to paint a clear picture for the unthinking woman, who had undoubtedly only been trying to aid Eve, who had probably talked the poor woman into abetting her. “Sister Mary Margaret, do you ken the type of men that travel the roads to the Valley of Blood?” Her instant frown told him the sheltered nun had no notion of the outside world. He did not wait for her to reply. “Bloodthirsty men, Sister. Lonely men. Men separated from their wives or mistresses for months on end because of war. Men whose morals have been shattered by the killing of war.”

  The nun’s face drained of all color, as did her lips, which pressed together in a thin line. “Men who come upon Eve alone would nae hesitate to take her and use her in the worst way ye could possibly imagine.” Painting the picture for the nun had the unintended consequence of creating a clear, ugly scene in his mind of Eve being ravaged. He gripped the handle of his sword as his heart pounded viscously. “Sister, was she headed to Linlithian Castle? Which way did ye tell her go to?” He would have already left if not for the fact that there were several routes to Linlithian and taking the wrong one could mean Eve got too far ahead of them for them to catch her before nightfall. The thought of her alone in the dark make him suck in a ragged breath.

  The nun bit her lip, a look of indecision skittering across her face. “Sister,” he repeated, the urgency he was feeling making his voice shake, “Eve is my wife. I only wish to protect her.”

  “She does not wish to be your wife,” the nun stated emphatically, making him clench his teeth so hard that pain shot along the edge of his jaw.

  “Wish it or nae,” he bit out, “she now is, and I would protect her with my life.”

  The abbess’s lips parted, and her eyes widened. “She said you only wished to use her. That you do not care for her.”

  He winced at that revelation. “’Tis true we were nae wed for love, and ’tis also true I need her castle, but now that she is my wife, I will care for her.”

  The abbess frowned. “There is caring for someone’s welfare,” she said, looking pointedly at him, “and then there is caring for someone’s heart.”

  Grant growled, and the abbess jerked. He did not have time for this nonsense. “Her life is what concerns me at the moment, Sister, and ’tis what should concern ye. If I fail to care for her welfare, it will nae matter if her heart is injured for she could well be dead.”

  The abbess tilted her head and moved her lips side to side, clearly considering what he’d said. “You speak true. I cannot deny it.”

  “God’s teeth,” he bellowed, “tell me the path she’s taken so I can catch up to her before men bent on ravaging her come upon her, or the man who took her before does. I can vow to ye that he would nae treat her with the respect and kindness I intend to.”

  The nun sucked in her lower lip. “Her uncle will protect her,” she said stubbornly. “Eve is certain it is so.”

  “Mayhap. Or mayhap nae. Would ye have her death on yer mind, her blood on yer hands, if she is wrong?”

  “Oh dear,” she murmured. “Eve seemed so certain that her uncle is good.” The nun nibbled on her lip. “But then, Clara did, at one point, seem certain he was evil.” The sister quirked her mouth then took a long breath. “Eve thinks he’ll be able to help her get her marriage to you dissolved since it has not been consummated.”

  He scowled at the abbess, whose tone had been very close to chastising. “I did nae deem it acceptable to ravage my wife to make the marriage true, would ye?” he demanded.

  “Certainly not,” she said, and then shocked him by smiling. “It pleases me to discover this about you, Laird Fraser. And since I believe you will eventually make Eve a worthy husband and learn to make her happy, I’ll tell you she is taking the north pass. But you need not be terribly worried; I gave her a dagger to travel with.”

  “A dagger? Ye gave her a dagger?” he repeated, near to seething between the abbess dragging out the telling of which way Eve had gone and the discovery that not only had his wife fled him but she had every intention of getting her king to dissolve their marriage. She’d maneuvered him like a chess piece. It was shameful, and damned if it wasn’t rather impressive, as well. “A dagger will nae save Eve if a group of men come upon her, Sister.”

  “Ha!” the abbess said. “You’ve never seen Eve wield a dagger. ’Tis quite impressive.”

  The nun’s words sent memories of his past crashing down around him. “I thought the same of my mother’s skills,” he said. “She’s dead now.”

  With that, he turned on his heel, intent on reaching Eve before the same could be said of her.

  Sleep would not come. And no wonder, Eve thought, turning on her other side. Her heart was racing, the ground was cold and hard, and every blasted sound seemed exactly like the sound of someone coming for her. And even if her mind had not been busy conjuring all the scenarios of different men she might encounter who would wish her ill, guilt festered inside her, which was horribly irritating.

  She flipped onto her back and stared up at the moon. Why should she feel guilty for fleeing Grant? True, he was her husband, but that had been forced upon her. He cared nothing for her or her wishes. He’d proven that when he made offering help to rescue Clara contingent upon Eve becoming his wife, and he’d proven it again with his constant talk of her being his duty. He’d proven it a third time at the convent when he’d been speaking to Kade and Ross, telling them that he was going to take her back to Dithorn because he would not risk her at Linlithian until he’d stormed her castle and taken it, if necessary, since risking her meant failing in his duty. The man really ought to learn to check if people were eavesdropping at doors, though the Highlander probably simply didn’t care if Eve heard or not with what little regard he had for her.

  Eve huffed out a breath. She did not want to be a man’s duty. She wished to be a man’s heart and soul as her mother had been her father’s. Once she was reunited with he
r uncle, they would speak with the king, and the king would surely dissolve her marriage. Then Eve would find her sister and secure the husband that she wished. Together, they would rule her home and avenge her parents. She squeezed her eyes shut to picture it, but to her vexation, a very clear image of Grant filled her mind.

  She tried to push the picture away, but the harder she tried, the more real it became, until she could hear his voice, velvet-edged and strong, I desire ye, but ye desire me, too. Devil take the man for being right. Even now, parted from him as she was, she could feel his strong arms as they’d circled her, taste his heat and passion when he’d kissed her, seen the blue of his eyes darken as his lust for her overcame him. She fanned her face, suddenly hot despite the breeze of the cool night air.

  Why, with the spark between them, if only there had been a possibility of love to come, she might have considered staying wed to him. The errant consideration had her bolting upright and staring wide-eyed into the darkness. How could she have thought such a thing? He’d forced her to wed him! But then he’d allowed her leeway in the joining…

  She bit her lip at that fact. He had taken a snakebite for her, proving his bravery and that he would willingly protect her. Of course, the willingness to protect her was not born from love or even a liking of her, but of the need to have her aid him with her castle.

  Her stomach growled, and her head pounded. She’d not ever sleep this night. She glanced at the sky. The moon was high, full, and bright. She’d stopped for fear of going off the path, but now she considered it might be best to continue on. Yet, as she pressed her hands down on the ground to stand, a stick snapped behind her, and the sharp point of a blade pricked the back of her neck. Black terror froze her for a moment.

  “I was just telling my man here that I would dearly love a wench’s soft body under mine.”

  Disgust roiled through Eve as she held her hands up in the air. She’d try reasoning with them, and if that didn’t work, she’d need just the right time to reach for and obtain her dagger strapped to her side. “I’m no wench, sir,” she said. “I’m the, um—” Her mind flailed for a moment, knowing she could not say she was the lost heiress of Linlithian Castle. “I’m the cousin of Lord Decres of Linlithian Castle. Do you know him?” Her heart pounded so hard it hurt her chest.

  Hands grasped her, suddenly jerked her to her feet, and twisted her around harshly. Two men stood before her, their faces greatly obscured by the darkness, but she knew when one of them smiled as his teeth flashed in the blackness. “I know Lord Decres, certainly.”

  “Oh thank God!” she cried out, practically slumping with relief. “Can you take me to him? I, well, my party was overcome, and I need aid.” She bit her lip, praying these men were not trained in detecting changes in tone as Grant was.

  She felt the man’s fingers come to her waist before she’d realized he’d moved. He jerked her violently to him as his comrade laughed. New fear blossomed and stole her breath as his blade came to the side of her neck. “She wants us to take her to her cousin,” the man said to the other.

  “Yes, my lord,” said one man, shorter and smaller than the broad-shouldered man.

  “We shall,” the taller man said to Eve, squeezing her waist painfully, “after we have a bit of fun with you.”

  His words curled around her heart like icy talons. “Sir, I am a lady and a Decres.” She prayed her voice didn’t sound as fearful as she felt.

  “And I’m Guy de Beauchamp,” he said with distinct mockery. The blade at the side of her neck pressed deeper into her skin, piercing it. She gasped as he chuckled and slid his hand from her waist, up between her breasts, to clutch her neck. He leaned in to her, the evidence of his desire pressing into her belly. Nausea roiled her stomach, even as his lips came close to her ear, making her skin crawl. “Do you know who I am?” he said, his voice calm and cool.

  “Yes,” she bit out, her fear giving way to rage. “You’re Guy de Beauchamp, as you just told me, but what that is supposed to mean to me, I neither know nor care!”

  The hand around her neck pressed into her windpipe, and she automatically brought her hands up to his as fear-spiked rage had her raking at him to release her. She struggled for air as he tsked in her ear. “My lady,” he said, the words heavy with sarcasm. “Take a care with your tongue or I’ll be forced to cut it out.”

  His hold on her lessened, and she gulped in greedy, desperate breaths. “The king surely will not like you abusing a lady!” she gasped.

  His hand left her neck and slid around her back to crush her to him. She shuddered at his touch, so different from Grant’s. “The king gives me full impunity to do as I wish. He needs my coin and would not dare deny me,” he said, his hot breath hitting her face. She tried to strain away, but he gripped her like a vise. “If I want to ravage and pillage my way across Scotland and England, and my men do, as well, the king will allow it, as long as I continue to provide warriors and coin to aid him in crushing the Scots.”

  De Beauchamp’s words landed like a blow to her heart. King Edward, if this was true, was no king she could ever pledge loyalty to. Was Grant’s king such a man as King Edward? She thought not, considering how honorable not only Grant but all of his men and Ross had treated her.

  Her mind raced with how to save herself, and the only way she could see was deception. She said a silent, fervent prayer that she sounded believable. “I see. Please forgive me, Lord de Beauchamp. If our good King Edward grants you this right, then I’m happy to oblige.”

  “Spoken like a true cousin of the cunning, conniving Lord Decres,” de Beauchamp said. His seeming familiarity with her uncle and his character parted her lips in worry, yet she shoved the concern to the back of her mind to address later when her innocence was not in peril. “George, my man, take your leave. I don’t need an audience to bed the wench. Go tend the horses,” de Beauchamp ordered, his hand coming to her breast and clutching it.

  A scream sprang forth from her mind and filled her with a desperate need, but she swallowed it as George said, “Yes, my lord,” and turned to do as he was bid.

  De Beauchamp released her and pointed his sword at her. “Take off your clothing.”

  Never had she been so glad for an order in her life. “As you command, my lord,” she said, pleased her tone was steady and normal. She had the unexpected thought that Grant would be impressed. She judged the distance between her and de Beauchamp, and concluded he was close enough for her to plunge her dagger into his black heart. Smiling, she bent down and grabbed at the skirt of the gown Sister Mary Margaret had saved of hers, the one she’d put on to have better access to her dagger. Her hands shook, so she took several slow, deep breaths, as she pulled up her skirts bit by bit. When her fingers touched the leather of the dagger sheath, she allowed her skirts to drape over her hand.

  “Will you undress for me, as well?” she asked, trying to sound inviting.

  De Beauchamp grinned. “I do so love an eager wench.” He tossed his sword negligently to the ground by his feet.

  And that’s when she attacked.

  Chapter Twelve

  A violent scream rent through the cacophony already in Grant’s head. He pulled up on the reins of his horse, stilling the beast immediately so he could pause and discern what direction the scream had come from and if it had been Eve’s.

  Another bellow—this one unmistakably Eve—came from ahead of them, beyond the crest of the hill. Fear sprang within him and rushed through his veins, gushing in his ears and drowning out all sounds but those of his breathing. He knew he was barking orders to Ross and Kade, but he did not know what he said. It didn’t matter. He was acting on instinct now, as he had been trained to do, and all his instincts were directed at saving Eve and killing whoever or whatever was hurting her.

  He sent his horse into a full gallop, disregarding any danger to himself, yet staying astute enough to duck any low-hanging branches. The steep path up the hill wound narrowly around a ledge, and his horse neighed, as if balki
ng at the dangerous climb. Grant urged the beast on, and the horse complied, though his hooves slid on the rocks several times.

  As his destrier pounded up the trail, thunder boomed above him, and when he crested the hill, lightning cracked the sky and illuminated the scene before him. Someone held Eve in the air, and she flailed her arms and kicked wildly at a second man who stood in front of her.

  Shock yielded quickly to scalding fury. He tugged his horse to a shuddering halt, ripped his sword from its sheath, and jumped down, not even waiting until he could land with sure feet. And it cost him. His knee touched down for a moment, and in that instant, the second man ripped the front of Eve’s gown. She howled her rage, Grant feeling it in every inch of his body.

  He roared his own fury, and the man who’d ripped Eve’s gown looked at him, just as Grant closed the distance separating them. He did not hesitate, striking the man holding his wife first. He sent his sword through the man’s back, yanked it out, and kicked him sideways to get him and Eve out of the way of the other man, who was swinging his own sword up into an arc for a blow.

  Grant met the man’s sword above his head with his own. Steel crashed against steel, sending vibrations down his arm, but his fury burned and only retribution would put out the fire. He shoved the man’s sword down, stabbed him in the gut, and jerked his weapon out, only to plunge it forward again into the stranger’s chest to deliver the killing blow. Even before the man had fully fallen, Eve lunged at her attacker, screaming and wielding a dagger. As the man fell to the ground with a thud, Grant caught Eve around her waist, but she twisted, like a trapped animal desperate to escape. Between her screams and her cries, he could not understand what she was saying at first, but as he hugged her flailing body to his, he thought he made out the words kill him.

  “Eve.” He pressed his lips to her ear, as Kade and Ross came racing toward them, swords draw. “They’re dead.”

  “I know!” she said between sobs. “I wanted to kill him! I tried to do so. I tried. I tried.” Her words gave way to her crying.