“You should’ve come with Ravenna and me, Elizabeth. I’m getting better with my aim.”
Elizabeth lifted her eyes from her trencher. “Yes, I really should’ve taken a walk today, but I do find it hard to believe you’ve improved your aim so quickly. Where did you practice?”
“We set up a target in the field. Why?”
Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled. “At least you weren’t anywhere near the gardens. The poor blooms would’ve never survived your attempts for sure.”
Fagan chuckled, but Grace didn’t pay him any heed. “I can’t wait to see how you do when Ravenna shows you how to wield a blade.”
“I’m certain your sister will become more skillful, the more she practices, and one day be as skilled as Ravenna.”
“One can always hope,” said Elizabeth.
Grace barely heard Elizabeth’s words because she was too stunned by Fagan’s. This was the first time she could remember the man actually paying her a compliment instead of pulling some snappish remark out of his mental arsenal to use against her. She knew she shouldn’t get too used to this type of behavior because the more she thought he was nothing more than a Scottish rogue, the easier her feelings were to control.
* * *
Elizabeth stood. “Pray excuse me.”
“And me as well, Mister Murray.”
If Fagan wasn’t watching Grace, he would have missed the momentary look of discomfort that crossed her face when she jumped to her feet as though her English arse was afire. Elizabeth had already walked away from the table, and he grabbed Grace’s wrist as she turned.
“There ye go again walking away, bhana-phrionnsa.” He lowered his voice. “I would think by now that ye’d call me Fagan. Didnae we discuss this?”
She looked down at his restraining hand. “Be thankful I don’t call you something much worse. Now please let go of my arm before somebody sees us.” When he released her, she paused. “I see your men follow your example.”
He lifted a brow. “What do ye mean?”
“Always around when you don’t want them to be. If you’re going to keep that wild dog out in the woods, perhaps you could learn to place him on a leash.”
“Donna tell me ye’re afraid of Angus too.”
“Angus? No, Ravenna is the only one who harbors that fear. I’m talking about your guard who seems to be at a loss for words. Perhaps someone should help him find his tongue because apparently he’s lost it.”
Fagan shook his head, confused. “My guard? What the hell…er, what are ye talking about?”
She sighed in exasperation. “Your guard in the woods. When my dagger landed in the brush, the man stood there gaping at me. I asked him what he was doing, and he didn’t even respond. He could’ve at least warned me he was standing there. He startled me.”
“What did he look like?”
“I don’t know. He looked like a Highlander. He had long hair, wore a kilt, and had a large sword. Frankly, all of you look the same to me.”
“Grace…”
“I told you. I don’t—wait a moment. He did have a large scar over his left eye. Do you know him?”
Fagan stood. “I’ll have a conversation with him. And Grace, I donna want ye or Ravenna going near the forest again until I’ve had a chance to speak with my man. Are my words clear?”
“Yes, of course.”
He watched her walk away and was relieved she heeded his command because he had no idea who this man was. Memories of the past flooded him, but he knew the Gordon was dead. What concerned him more was the fact that every time one weed was cut down, two more rose up to take its place.
Fagan walked hurriedly and approached Ruairi’s study. The door was closed, and he knocked once. “Ruairi…”
“Cò leis sibh?” Who are you with?
“I am alone,” said Fagan.
“Come.”
Fagan opened the door and shut it behind him. He’d lost count of the endless times he’d met with Ruairi behind the closed doors of this room. Celebrations, mourning, battle plans, and getting into their cups—there wasn’t much they hadn’t already done. Although there was nothing unusual about Ruairi sitting behind his desk, Ravenna sat in the chair across from her husband with a troubled expression on her face.
“I need to talk with ye. Grace said there was a man in—”
“I know. Ravenna told me.”
“Please tell me you didn’t tell my sister the man was not a Sutherland guard.”
Fagan sat in the chair beside Ravenna. “Of course nae. I’m nae daft.”
“Grace didnae give my wife any description of the man. Did she say anything else to ye?”
“Other than the fact that we Highlanders look all alike… She said the man had a large scar over his left eye. Nay one comes to mind, but I told her that I knew him so she doesnae worry upon it.”
Ruairi rubbed his chin, and his eyes darted back and forth between Fagan and Ravenna. “Do ye think she’s certain of what she saw?”
“Yes, my sister does not lie.”
“I didnae say that she does, but I need to be certain of what or who she saw. God’s teeth. Who the hell would encroach on my lands again?” His lips thinned with irritation.
By the way Ruairi asked the question, Fagan didn’t think his friend had expected a response. “Do ye want me to increase the guard along the border?”
“Aye. Advise the men about what little we know and have them keep a watchful eye. I’m also going to send a missive to Ian. After our brush with the Gordon, I will nae leave anything to chance.”
“Fagan, please don’t mention any of this to my sisters, Grace in particular. For some reason, she’s bound and determined to take my place and work for the king. Up until now, she’s been quite harmless in her pursuit, albeit somewhat annoying. If she discovers the guard was not one of ours, I’m afraid she’ll do something rash and search for the man herself. That kind of thinking is dangerous. You can understand why I can’t let her believe she’s capable of undertaking such a task.”
Fagan knew his mouth was tight and grim. At first, he might have been taken aback by Ravenna’s words, but he knew now that Grace would be foolhardy enough to pursue something like that. He couldn’t imagine her being a spy for the English. Her actions were reckless, careless, and she’d surely get herself killed. “When was the idea planted that she wanted to be a spy for the Crown?”
Ravenna sighed. “Shortly after she found out I served the king. I thought perhaps her innocent questions were only a passing fancy, but now that I’ve seen how eager she is to learn, it worries me. Uncle Walter and I have tried to deter her, but—”
“I wouldnae worry overmuch. I donna think she would ever close her mouth long enough to accomplish the task. Furthermore, she’s to be wed. What does her betrothed think?”
“Daniel doesn’t know. She wanted to keep it a secret from him. The same as I did from my sisters.”
“Aye, that would be a fine marriage filled with naught but lies and distrust between them.” When Ruairi lifted a brow, Fagan added, “I will nae say anything about the man.”
“’Tis but another day in the Highlands, lass. I donna want ye to think about this. Fagan and my men will find out if anything is afoot.” Ruairi’s eyes gave Ravenna a firm warning. “But ye arenae to do anything. Ye are nay longer a spy. Ye’ve retired from service, remember? Ye are now my wife, Lady Sutherland.”
Fagan stood. “I’ll leave ye and speak to the men.”
* * *
When Grace spotted the guards, she stepped back, placing her rump against the stone wall in the bailey. Perhaps she was thinking about this the wrong way. If she was going to search for the guard who was in the woods, she should follow Ravenna’s advice. Her sister had always told her to blend into her surroundings, and Grace was the sister-in-law of the laird. No one would think it odd t
hat she was in the bailey. Besides, it wasn’t as if she needed to follow the man. She only needed to find him.
Even though Fagan said he knew the mute guard, Grace had a strong yearning to perfect her spying skills. What better opportunity than now? More to the point, since Ravenna was hesitant to assist her in this endeavor, always being the protective sister and all, Grace would make certain her sister guided her—willingly or not.
She stepped away from the wall and made her way across the bailey to where Ruairi and Fagan had practiced swordplay earlier in the day. She glanced up and watched the men walk along the walls. None of their faces looked even vaguely familiar. Maybe she wasn’t handling this the right way either. To see the men, she had to stretch her neck to look up high on the walls. That had to be more difficult than being able to look down at them. She smiled when another idea struck her.
Grace reached the parapet door and closed it behind her. She climbed the steps and lifted the latch on the door at the top of the stairs. The cool breeze greeted her, and she walked to the edge of the wall. This looked like the perfect spot. From here, she could see the men walking along the walls much more clearly than if she was standing on the ground below. She didn’t feel like she was breaking her neck to do it either.
When Fagan approached a group of his men, she faltered in her purpose. Although these Highland men looked the same with their kilts and long broadswords, somehow she always knew when Ruairi’s captain was among them. She placed her hand on the cool stone and watched the way Fagan tilted his head. She noted his daunting stance and how he folded his arms over his broad chest. She remembered being held in those same arms yesterday.
“Stop it, Grace,” she said aloud. “Daniel. You must think of Daniel.”
Needing to suppress her sinful thoughts, she looked out at the vast ocean, stretching as far as her eyes could see. The amber hues of the sun reflected off the water. She turned to her left, appreciating the trees that were different shades of green, and of course, the beautiful mossy field that lay ahead. Before she knew it, her eyes betrayed her again by returning to Fagan. He turned and lifted his face into the sun, or perhaps he looked directly at her. She wasn’t sure. She stepped away from the wall and paused. After a brief moment, she moved back into place and stole a quick glance.
He was gone.
That suited her mood fine. If she was to be a spy for the king, she couldn’t very well be distracted by a certain someone or dwell upon something that could never be. For heaven’s sake, they’d only shared one kiss. She needed to stay true to her purpose.
Grace’s eyes darted back and forth between the men. Maybe the guard she sought was making sure Ruairi’s lands were safe because she didn’t see him anywhere. She supposed she’d have to try something else. As soon as she turned on her heel, she was greeted by a wall of a man.
“What are ye doing?” Fagan looked suspicious about her motives.
“I came up here for a breath of fresh air. What are you doing here?” She returned the same look he had given her.
“I saw ye watching me.” He folded his arms over his chest and gave her a roguish grin.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I wasn’t watching you. I was…”
“Ye were what?”
When she hesitated and couldn’t look him in the eye, he lifted her chin with his fingers. The touch of his hand was almost unbearable in its tenderness, and her body tingled from the contact. He stared back, waiting in silence as she blinked, feeling light-headed. His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. Near-kisses wouldn’t cause her to swoon. She refused.
“Mister Mur—” Her voice softened. “Fagan…”
When she said his name, some kind of unidentifiable emotion crossed his face. His lips slowly descended to meet hers. Heaven help her. She felt her knees weaken. There was a dreamy familiarity to his kiss, something she couldn’t quite explain. They were from two different worlds, but she couldn’t deny the emotions he stirred within her. It was as if Fagan had a key and had found a way to unlock her heart. It felt as if their souls had known each other in some past life, but she knew that was impossible.
Carried away by her own response, Grace failed to notice that he had wound a hand into her hair to deepen the kiss. He pressed her up against the wall and his heavy body covered hers. He molded her to himself, his arms wrapping around her like a vise. Her breasts flattened against his chest, and she shuddered with desire. When he wedged his thigh between her legs, she gently leaned back and placed her head on the cool stone wall, breathless.
“Fagan, please stop.” She placed her hands on his chest, and he leaned his forehead against hers.
“I donna know why ye make me lose all sense of reason.” His breath fanned her face. “I had absolutely nay intention of kissing ye again.”
“And I could say the same to you. I don’t understand. Why does this keep happening to us?”
He let out a low, hearty chuckle. “I donna know, lass.”
“I know you don’t like me very much.”
He pulled back, and his smile turned into another chuckle. “Now I wouldnae say that. Donna get me wrong. Ye have a way about ye that drives me completely mad, and your sharp tongue grates on my nerves, but…’tis apparent that I hold something for ye because I havenae yet run my sword through ye.”
She huffed and pushed him away from her, not that she could move him more than an inch. “How very kind of you, Mister Murray.”
He moved closer, holding her in place, and his eyes became softer as he brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “Donna start, Grace. Ye called me Fagan. I heard it from your lips. I will hear it from now on. I know this is foolish. Ruairi and Ravenna would have my head, but I can’t seem to stop myself. At least all I have stolen is a wee kiss or two from ye.”
For some ridiculous reason “heart” came to her mind, but all she allowed to surface was the one thought that mattered most. “I’m betrothed to Daniel.”
* * *
Fagan knew he had lost all sense of reason some time ago. How could one woman—an English woman moreover—make all his chivalrous behavior fly out the window and not look back? He wasn’t thinking clearly, but when Grace kindly reminded him that she was betrothed, reality crept back in—not necessarily sanity, but the truth penetrated him like a steely blade. Yet he couldn’t dismiss that little voice inside his head and had to ask the question that weighed on his mind.
“Do ye love him?”
He wasn’t sure why that inner voice prodded him to ask, but for some reason he wanted to hear her answer. He needed to know the truth. Perhaps if he did, he’d stop acting like a besotted fool.
Grace stepped around him. “You have no right to ask me that.”
“Why?”
“Why does it matter? Whether yes or no, it doesn’t change the fact that there is nothing—nor will there ever be something—between us. I’ll be taking my leave in a few weeks, returning to England, and you said so yourself…it’s more than likely best if we don’t speak of this again.”
When she threw his own words back at him, he felt guilty. The kiss meant something. He just wasn’t sure what. He raked his fingers through his hair. “I donna know—”
“I see you have men on the walls. Are there also guards who ride around Ruairi’s lands to make certain they’re safe?”
Fagan was taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. “Aye, why?” When she looked like she was deep in thought, he added, “Ye donna have to worry about the guard in the forest. I talked to him.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You did? When?”
“Only a moment ago, on the wall.”
“The man in the forest was there on the wall?” When she gestured with her hand to his men below, he shifted his weight and glanced down.
“Aye.”
For a long moment, Grace looked back at him.
/> Eight
For the past two days, Fagan had managed to avoid her completely. Not that Grace blamed him. She knew he wasn’t trying to be hurtful, and it was best that he kept his distance for both their sakes. Maybe they wouldn’t be tempted to do something else they shouldn’t be doing. Of course, that didn’t stop her from reliving private memories of the man. What irritated her even more was that Daniel had never come to mind, again. Even throwing her dagger at the target in the field didn’t help to clear her head.
Grace released the blade, and it whipped through the air, landing at the base of the tree with a thump. “Damn.”
“You need to keep trying,” said Ravenna.
“I know, but I have yet to even hit the target. It’s been two days.”
Ravenna pulled Grace’s dagger from the ground and wiped the dirt from the blade. “I didn’t master this overnight either. It takes a lot of practice.”
When her sister handed her back her weapon, Grace nodded. “May I ask you something?” She didn’t miss the uncomfortable look that crossed Ravenna’s face. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to ask you anything else about mastering spy craft.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.”
Grace looked down at her dagger, carefully guarding her expression. “Why did your husband increase the guard?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come now, Ravenna. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed Ruairi’s men lingering around us, even more so when we leave the gates. They weren’t this close to us before.”
“Ruairi doesn’t consult with me on these matters. My husband is laird and I trust that he handles his duties the way he sees fit. Who am I to question his—”
“Do you take me for that much of a fool? Fagan told me he spoke to his man about being in the forest.”
Ravenna smiled easily. “Yes, he told me the same. You shouldn’t be worried because—”
Kilts and Daggers Page 8
