Highland Avenger

by Julie Johnstone

  “MacDougall warriors were spotted near the borders of our land,” Bryden said.

  Grant’s hands fisted at his side as rage beat like a drum within him. They were circling like vultures for Eve. Word of her uncle’s death must have reached them. “Double the warriors on guard.”

  Bryden nodded. “What of Lady Eve? When she is well enough and ventures out should I assign a man to guard her?”

  “I want ye to guard her personally, but stay back so that she dunnae ken it. My wife is verra independent, and I’d rather she nae feel like a prisoner.”

  “Of course,” Bryden agreed. He gave Grant a concerned look. “When was the last time ye ate?”

  “I dunnae recall,” Grant said as his stomach growled. With Eve so sick, he’d had no appetite or desire for food. He was her husband. It was his job to ensure she lived, and he would do everything in his power to make certain that he did not fail, including going without food and sleep when she needed him. And Eve had most definitely needed him. She needed him still.

  “Come and sup,” Bryden said.

  Grant shook his head, seeing Clara come to the top of the stairs at the end of the passage.

  “Cousin, ye need to eat. I’ll sit with Eve if—”

  “Nay,” Grant snapped. He knew Bryden was trying to help, but he’d not leave Eve.

  Clara strolled toward them and paused by Bryden. “Why don’t you have one of the serving wenches bring a platter of food for Grant?”

  A momentary look of annoyance skittered across Bryden’s face, but he nodded. Grant assumed his cousin did not like an English woman making a suggestion, even if it was a good one. He’d have to speak to Bryden later when there was time.

  “Eve is resting peacefully,” he offered Clara as Bryden strode toward the stairs.

  “I’m glad. I came to check on her and see if I could offer aid. I confess I’m no healer like your sister, and I’ve been so worried. I spoke with Esme, and she says the bane weed will most likely make Eve nauseated.”

  He jerked a hand through his hair. “What have I done?”

  Clara patted his arm. “The only thing you could—just as I did the night I took her to hiding so long ago.”

  Clara mentioning the night Eve’s parents had been killed and her sister Mary had disappeared reminded Grant he wished to speak with her about it.

  “I wish to talk to ye about the night Eve’s parents were killed and her sister went missing. I wish to talk to ye about yer escape.”

  “What do you want to know?” Clara asked.

  He liked that the woman did not mince words. “Tell me what ye can recall of Mary. Did she ride alone? Was she on foot? Was someone looking out for her as ye were for Eve?”

  “Mary was riding with John, the stablemaster. She was but a wee lass of five summers. He was seeing to her safety, even as I was seeing to Eve’s. But they fell and were trampled. Why?”

  There was no way to soften the shock of what he was going to tell her, so he simply spit it out. “There is a verra good chance that Mary and John are alive.”

  “What?” Clara’s face went pale. “But…but—”

  “I ken yer shock, but the song the bards always sing about the missing heiress of Linlithian includes a part about her missing sister, and that would be Mary.”

  Clara nibbled on her lip as she nodded slowly. “Yes, it would.” She suddenly gripped Grant by the forearm. “The plan that John and I came up with to get the girls to safety was to ride out to the Calder clan.”

  “They’re an enemy clan of ours,” Grant said, thinking immediately of Millicent. His former leman had been a Calder before wedding one of Grant’s guards, who was now deceased. “I ken someone who might be able to aid me in getting safely into the Calder holding and having an audience with the laird to see if John and Mary ever made it there.”

  The plan was sound, but it would be best not to tell Clara of his former relationship with Millicent. He’d broken it off when she’d proven to be a spiteful woman and only allowed her to stay at Dithorn because he’d promised his guard on his deathbed that he would always give Millicent shelter as long as she wished it. He suspected, though, that neither Clara nor Eve would approve of him traveling to the Calder holding with a woman with whom he’d previously joined. Yet, that was exactly what he’d have to do to gain entry without the threat of being killed. Since Millicent had been born a Calder, she could go back to her clan freely to see whatever family was still there, and as the man accompanying her, he would be guaranteed safety while they were there.

  “I sent messengers on several occasions to the Calder laird,” Clara said. “At first, I received no response when I inquired about John Talbot and Mary, and last time, about a year ago, I received a message that said there was no one there by those names and there never had been. I fear speaking to the Calder laird will bring no answers,” Clara said, her voice unhappy.

  “It may nae,” Grant agreed, “but if there is any possibility that doing so will lead me to reuniting Eve with her sister, maybe—”

  Understanding lit Clara’s eyes. “You fear she will blame you for the bane weed,” Clara said on a low voice.

  He clenched his jaw but nodded. “Aye. I would give her a reason nae to hate me.”

  Clara smiled gently and squeezed his arm. “I do believe you’ve already given her many reasons, but if you could find her sister, it would mean the world to her. She’s had to bear a lot of sadness, and I think part of why she was able to remain so strong was the hope that she would return to Linlithian one day and recapture the happiness she’d known as a child, which had included her uncle as part of her family.”

  “She will have a chance to be happy there,” he said, willing it to be so. “We will live here, of course, but while I’m establishing control of the castle, we will stay there, and once it’s established and I have my man in place to oversee it, we will visit often not simply because I need to but because I ken she will want to. She is my family, and I want her to be happy.”

  “Yes, of course,” Clara said slowly, “but Eve wants to feel the love she once felt.” She eyed him expectantly.

  “Ye’re here,” he said, purposely avoiding her probing stare.

  “For now,” Clara replied. “But once I know Eve is settled and happy, I’ll go.”

  “Where? Ye’re more than welcome to stay on as part of the clan.”

  “I thank you,” she said, “but I have duties I swore to uphold long ago, and Eve is but one of those duties.”

  “Do ye care to tell me more?”

  Clara smiled secretly. “I cannot, but I’ll tell you this: men are not the only ones who can be warriors. We women are mighty, and our weapons are not always swords. Words often cut as sharp as a blade.”

  “God’s teeth, woman,” he said on a chuckle, “dunnae tell Eve that. She wishes to wield swords, and if she wields words, too, I’ll be outmatched.”

  She surprised him by winking. “What makes you think you are not already?”

  He opened his mouth to answer when Eve suddenly cried out. Fear sent him bolting through the door with Clara on his heels. Eve was standing by the bed, doubled over, retching violently, but before he could reach her, she collapsed.

  Murmured voices invaded Eve’s dreams. She tried to open her eyes to see who was there, but it felt as if someone had nailed her eyelids shut. They would not budge.

  “Let me watch her, Grant,” came a voice she recognized as Clara’s. Happiness warmed Eve’s heart knowing that Clara was safe and there with her. She tried to smile, but her cheeks and her lips would not cooperate, and when she attempted to speak to Clara, what came out of her sounded more like a cat’s pitiful cry than words.

  “Nay,” Grant finally answered. “Ye see, she cried out in her sleep when she thought I might leave her.”

  “Bah!” was Clara’s response, making Eve want to laugh. “She was probably crying out for some peace and quiet. You’ve sat by her bed for three straight days telling her horrific battl
e tales—”

  “She likes them,” Grant protested. “She becomes verra still and quiet when I tell her of all the battles I’ve fought.”

  “And you sing her all those awful Scottish ballads,” Clara muttered.

  He’d sung to her? And sat by her bed? And told her stories?

  Eve strained to make her lips form the smile that wanted to burst forth.

  “Both God and Eve like my singing,” Grant said in an overly confident tone. “There!” Suddenly, she felt strong hands under her shoulders. “She’s smiling.” And then she was pressed against a rock… Or was that her husband’s chest?

  Eve tried harder and harder to pry open her eyes. When they finally did, blinding light made her gasp. “Dear God, ’tis bright in here!”

  “Eve!” Grant said on what sounded like a happy sigh. He kissed the top of her head, and his arms tightened around her ever so slightly. Then he pulled back, and she stared in shock at her husband’s haggard face. He had many days’ worth of beard growth, which would have been rather becoming if not for the dark circles under his eyes. She frowned as she studied him further. His normally blue eyes were so bloodshot she could hardly see the blue.

  “You look like death knocked at your door,” Eve blurted.

  “He has nae slept,” Esme said from behind Grant.

  Eve blinked her eyes, which were now watering from the light, and then attempted to focus on Clara and Esme, who’d both moved to her bedside.

  “We tried to get him to sleep,” Esme clucked.

  “This man you married is sinfully stubborn, Eve,” Clara said, giving Grant an approving look that made Eve want to laugh. Her husband had obviously won Clara’s approval. Eve frowned, trying to recall why she was in bed and unaware of how Grant had won over Clara.

  “What’s the matter, mo bhean mhaiseach?” he asked.

  His beautiful wife. She rather liked that endearment.

  “Is yer back paining ye? Yer stomach?” he asked, an odd, tight look coming over his face as he laid his large palm over her stomach in an almost protective manner.

  She considered his questions for a moment, concentrated on how she felt, and then gasped. “I was shot!” Grant, Esme, and Clara nodded. “By Uncle Frederick,” Eve added, her voice catching. All three of them nodded again. She had so many questions. She started to sit up, but a wave of nausea overcame her, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, fearing she’d be sick.

  “I’ll get the sickness pitcher!” Esme cried out and scurried away only to come right back with a large pitcher that she shoved at Grant, who held it up to Eve.

  “Retch in here, Eve,” he ordered as Clara came to her other side with a wet cloth, which she laid atop Eve’s head.

  Eve swallowed several times, and the nausea passed. “It’s better now,” she said, moving to sit up again, but this time much more slowly. She glanced around at the concerned faces and offered a weak smile. “I take it I’ve been sick a few times?” Given how they’d been prepared for it, her assumption seemed sound. The uneasy look they all exchanged baffled her, though. “Don’t look so concerned,” she assured them. “Your healer gave me something for pain, yes?”

  Esme nodded. “I’m the healer. And aye, I gave ye something for the pain the arrow caused ye, but ’tis bane weed that makes ye nauseated.”

  “Bane weed?” Eve’s brow furrowed.

  “I’ll be the one to tell her,” Grant interrupted, misery lacing his tone.

  His tone and the worry in his eyes caused gooseflesh to sweep across her arms. “What is it?” she asked, fear blossoming in her.

  Grant looked to Esme and Clara. “Leave us,” he ordered.

  “Clara is not of your clan, and you cannot go about commanding her, Grant,” Eve chided, as she fully expected her stubborn friend to ignore his demand, and she did not want him angry at Clara.

  To her utter shock, Clara said, “’Tis fine, Eve. I’ll be just outside the door if you need me.”

  Well, of course, she needed Clara! They had much to discuss, and she really did want to apologize again for how horrid she’d been when they had parted at the convent, especially given how Clara had been correct about her uncle.

  Oh!

  “My uncle… What happened? How did we get away? We have to return,” she rushed out, her words coming as fast as her thoughts did. “Linlithian is mine.” She looked to Grant. “Ours. ’Tis ours. We must—”

  Grant pressed a finger gently to her lips as he sat on the edge of the bed facing her. Then rested his hands on her hips. Deep in her belly, her core tightened with awareness of her husband and the desire he made her feel. “Dunnae fash yerself, Eve. I will take Linlithian for ye.”

  No, they would do it together. It was her right!

  She opened her mouth to argue, then promptly closed it. It was wise to know when to pick one’s battles, and now was not the best time. She felt weak, and she needed strength to persuade her husband to take her with him. Instead, she forced herself to nod. “What happened to my uncle?”

  Grant took her hands in his, worry dancing in the depths of his blue eyes. “I killed him Eve. I’m sorry.”

  The news made her want to weep, which angered her. Her uncle had killed her father and mother and had caused her to lose many precious years with her sister, or possibly even forever. Maybe her parents had not died by his own hands, but by his order. And he’d tried to kill Grant! She knew she should not feel sad to hear of his death, yet she did. “I don’t know why I’m sad,” she muttered, even as hot tears began to fill her eyes and roll down her cheeks to drip off her face.

  Grant brushed his fingers over both her cheeks and then gently leaned forward and kissed her. “Ye’re sad, mo bhean mhaiseach, because despite what he did he was your family, ye loved him.”

  She sniffled and nodded. Trying to ignore the sadness, she said, “I doubt I look very beautiful at this moment.” Her eyes already felt puffy, and if she’d been lying in bed retching, she must look a fright.

  “To me,” he said, sliding his strong fingers into her hair to cradle her head, “ye look beautiful.”

  “You have terrible eyesight, then, Husband,” she grumbled.

  “Nay, lass. I see ye, and ye are beautiful. Ye will make—” He stopped himself mid-sentence, his brows dipping together as he frowned. He inhaled a long, slow breath. “Ye do make me verra proud. Ye are so braw.”

  She had the strangest feeling that whatever he’d been about to say was not that. “Something odd is occurring here,” she grumbled. “I do not care for secrets, even ones meant to protect me. So simply spit out your thoughts.”

  “Ye caught a terrible fever because of the arrow,” he said softly.

  “And?” she prodded. She could tell he was hedging, which was not in character at all given how blunt he’d been since they’d first met.

  “I feared ye would die, as did Esme. She told me she could give ye something called bane weed, which would save ye from death by fever, and I had her do so.” He paused, as if in thought. “As Esme told ye, that’s what made ye sick to yer stomach. Ye retched for an entire day and night.”

  “Well, goodness,” Eve said, squeezing his hand. “Were you worried I’d be vexed about that? You two saved my life. I—”

  “Eve.” The pain she heard in his voice made her catch her breath.

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  “The bane weed Esme gave ye,” he started, then audibly swallowed. “It’s kenned to make women nae able to have bairns.”

  She heard his words, but she was not comprehending what he’d said. “What do you mean it’s known to do that? I can still have children, yes?” Her heart began to thunder as he simply stared at her, his lips parted, a pained expression on his face.

  “Likely nae.” His answer sounded as if he’d choked it out. She rather felt like someone was choking her. Breathing had become difficult, and she tried to suck in a deep breath, but it was more like a short gasp. Her hand fluttered to her neck, and when she laid her fing
ertips against her skin, the wild flutter of her heartbeat thumped against the pads of her fingers.

  Likely not. His words echoed loudly in her ears. Likely she would never hold a baby of her own in her arms. Likely she would never rock a child to sleep, feed them, bathe them, watch them grow. Likely she would not be able to give Grant an heir, which he would want as laird of his clan. Yes, he had a brother, but men wanted sons.

  She bit her lip as the thoughts came as fast as the tears. Would he take a mistress to bear him a child, then? Could she deny him such a thing? Would he even take her feelings into account? She had to know.

  “But…you need an heir,” she said, unable to outright ask such a horrid question. Her breath caught with both hope and fear.

  “Aye,” he agreed.

  It felt as if he’d reached into her chest and ripped out her heart. In that moment, sound rushed at her from all around—her thundering heart, his breathing, children laughing from the keep below—and she realized, with horror, that her husband had stolen her heart like a thief. How could that be? A hundred slivers of things he’d shown came to her at once. Honor. Loyalty. Bravery. Tenderness. How could it not have happened, was the better question…

  Her throat tightened. He had her heart and her castle, what did she have of his? She certainly could not have his love if he was going to join with another woman. She did not care that it was the need for an heir that propelled the decision. Her father never would have done such a thing to her mother. Because her father had loved her mother.

  Grant started to reach for her, and she pushed his hand away and turned her face from his. “I’d like to be alone,” she said.

  “Eve…”

  Her name was a plea upon his lips, but the pain in her heart turned to anger. Anger she could stand; the pain, the loss of the chance to be a mother, was too great to bear. She had no true family, and a child would have been that for her. And her sister, if Eve could ever find Mary, but in this moment, it seemed utterly hopeless.

  “Go away,” she said stonily, pain trying to force itself through her anger. If she could just hold on to her anger, maybe she would not feel the pain. She did not want to feel it. She’d vowed in her darkest hour of wretchedness after her parents’ deaths that she would not allow pain to consume her, but she felt consumed in pain now. It burned her from the inside out. How much loss was one person supposed to bear?