Kilts and Daggers (10 page)

She tried to remember the last time she'd truly enjoyed herself with a man, realizing she'd never talked to Daniel this way. She didn't believe in tales of chivalric love, but she briefly wondered if the kisses she'd shared with Fagan were some of those stolen moments that the bards often talked about.

* * *

“Ye look like ye're deep in thought.”

Grace blinked, and Fagan didn't miss the slight shake of her head. “Pardon? Oh yes. I suppose my mind was elsewhere.”

He gave her a roguish grin. “I certainly hope 'tisnae my company that ye wish to avoid.”

“No. I'm sorry. It's just been a long day, and I'm weary.”

He lifted a brow. “Weary? Ye slept most of the day away.” She opened her mouth to say something, but when she realized he was only jesting with her, she graced him with a smile.

“Do you think my sisters are safe here?”

Fagan hesitated. The woman didn't ask about her own safety, only that of her sisters. He paused a moment longer because he didn't understand where the conversation was heading. He needed to weigh his answer before he responded.

“Are you going to answer me or sit there like a dolt?”

He leaned his arm on the table. “I heard ye. And aye, I know your sisters will be safe here. The castle is impenetrable.” Fagan wouldn't mention the fact that the Sutherland guards had managed to hold the Gordons at bay at the border. She might think they warred with the neighboring clans all the time—well, not too often.

“Grace, ye donna need to worry. We will protect ye and your sisters. Why do ye think Ruairi entrusted me with your escort back to England? I'll have ye know…they say my prowess on the battlefield is feared by many.”

“And who says that?” she asked dryly.

“Men.”

She laughed and folded her arms over her chest. “What men?”

“Careful,
bhana-phrionnsa
,” he warned. “We've been getting along so well.”

“How many of these mercenaries do you think there are?”

“'Tis hard to say, but we've only seen three of them. Perhaps they have a few more, but I donna know.”

“What do they usually want, or what could they possibly want?”

Fagan suddenly had a sense that Grace was more concerned about her little adventure than she was letting on. “The men serve whoever pays the highest coin. They'll do whatever they're told and swear nay fealty to any liege. Many of them have traveled to Ireland to fight with the Irish, but some have remained in Scotland.”

“You're saying these men do as they're instructed for coin?”

“Aye.”

“Then why would someone pay them to take me?”

* * *

Fagan waited for Ruairi and Ravenna next to the tree line in the field. The grass was wet with the early-morning dew, and the orange and yellow hues of the sun rose just over the horizon. That little voice inside Fagan's head had a hard time understanding something. Why didn't Grace tell anyone that the scarred bastard had actually spoken to her? God, he knew why. She didn't think it was important enough to mention. Yes, she'd make one hell of a spy for the Crown for sure.

He thought it best to meet outside the castle walls because he didn't want Grace stumbling on them by mistake, and he wasn't in the mood to tell her what they were doing gathered without her. Fagan leaned against the tree, watching Angus as the wolf stalked some small animal out in the field. Without warning, Angus turned and made a mad dash into the tree line, sticks and branches snapping under the wolf's massive paws. At least the wolf disappeared before Ravenna spotted him, because she and Ruairi had just come through the gates.

As they walked side by side, Ruairi reached out and took Ravenna's hand in a gentle gesture. Fagan still had some difficulty watching the man he had known for years, the strong Highland laird and warrior, showing a moment of vulnerability with a woman. Ruairi was undoubtedly besotted with his wife.

“Madainn mhath,”
said Ruairi.
Good
morning.

“Aye. I hope so.”

“What's the matter?” asked Ravenna. “We received word that you wanted to meet us here this morn.”

“My path crossed Grace's last eve in the kitchens. I found out that she neglected to mention a wee detail about the man on the beach.”

“And what's that?” asked Ravenna.

“She had words with him. She asked him what he wanted, and he said ‘ye.' That's when she decided to run.”

“But that could mean anything. She was a woman alone on the beach. Perhaps he only meant to frighten her.”

Fagan raked his fingers through his hair. “Aye, but what if—”

“—the two other men who led Fagan away from Grace were only a distraction from their real purpose,” said Ruairi, finishing Fagan's thoughts.

Ravenna waved Ruairi off, and her voice went up a notch. “That's completely absurd. Who would want to make off with Grace?”

“Aye, her sharp tongue would surely deter any man, and she'd most certainly drive the poor bastard mad,” said Fagan. “But what if that was the bastard's true purpose and Grace was the target?”

Ravenna's eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips. “First of all, you may think you're amusing, but let me assure you that you're not.” She rubbed her hand over her brow. “I understand why you would both draw that conclusion, but you know my sister has nothing to do with the Crown. For heaven's sake, she's only been to court twice, and the only peer of the realm that she consorts with is Daniel.”

“And donna forget ye and Lord Mildmay,” said Fagan.

“No one knows of my and Uncle Walter's connections to the Crown.”

“Are ye certain of that, lass?” asked Ruairi.

Ravenna started to pace. “But that makes no sense. For the sake of argument, why wouldn't the men come after me or Uncle Walter? Why would they want Grace? Perhaps it was only a strange coincidence that she was on the beach at that time and crossed paths with the man.”

“Mayhap,” said Ruairi.

Fagan knew by the look on Ruairi's face that his friend only said the words to appease his wife. But more to the point, Ravenna didn't know that Fagan had seen that same expression for years. Ruairi had his doubts and so did Fagan.

“Donna worry, Wife. We'll make certain Grace is safe. Fagan will provide your sister with an escort anytime she leaves the castle.”

“That's wonderful, but who is going to protect Fagan from Grace?”

For the past two weeks, Grace had barely been able to breathe. Fagan followed her everywhere. She couldn't even go to the garden without the man hovering over her shoulder. She knew what he was doing. He had refused to let her out of his sight ever since that scarred vagrant had chased her on the beach. She'd lost count of how many times she'd told the daft man he was not to blame.

Grace sought solace in the library, the only place she knew Fagan avoided like the plague. Heaven forbid the man should pick up a book. He might catch something. She and Elizabeth sat in the two chairs in front of the stone fireplace with their noses buried in books. Grace should've known the quiet minute was exactly that. The peaceful moment was broken when papers shuffled behind them. As Kat cleaned up her drawings, she let out a heavy sigh.

“I'm weary of this. I'm going to find Torquil.”

“No,” said Elizabeth and Grace at the same time. Grace stood and replaced her book on the shelf.

“And why not?” Kat glanced at Grace, pursing her lips in defiance. Then Grace walked over to the table and started to clear away the mess that her sister had tried unsuccessfully to clean up. “I asked you a question, Grace, and I know you heard me. Why not?”

As Kat pretended not to understand Grace's scolding look, Grace continued with her task while not paying her sister any heed. There were some days when her sisters drove her completely mad, and she hoped this wasn't another one of them. Grace could feel Kat's eyes on her and knew it was only a matter of time before her wily sister prodded again.

“If you refuse to tell me why I can't take my leave to find Torquil, I'm just going to go.”

Grace faced her sister and took a deep breath. She placed her hands on Kat's shoulders and looked up at the ceiling. She was trying to be patient and understanding, especially since what she really wanted to say was “because I said.” But she knew those words would only cause further argument.

“You can't be chasing that boy all the time. He's at the age where he doesn't want to share his company with a girl. He doesn't want you following him. You've both been getting along quite well, but I wouldn't push him too far if I were you. Don't you think he has friends that he wants to be with on occasion?”

“But I
am
his friend.”

“Yes, but you need friends of your own and have to find something to do other than occupying your time with Torquil.”

“But we haven't been quarreling. We've been playing with Angus, running in the fields, and we've stopped practicing our swordplay. Torquil doesn't mind my company. I think he enjoys it.”

Elizabeth stood. “How about we go to the stables? You can see the animals.”

Kat shrugged. “All right. I do like petting the horses.”

For the first time since Grace could remember, she was grateful for Elizabeth's intervention. They walked through the halls, and Kat ran ahead of them and out into the bailey. When the warm rays touched Grace's cheeks, she lifted her face to the sun. She knew it wouldn't be long before the blue skies were gray and the winter solstice would once again rear its ugly head. She shivered just thinking about the cold weather.

Kat made her way over to John, the stable hand, who was brushing one of the horses. He was an older gentleman with graying hair and always had a warm, tender kind of smile. He looked up and his expression brightened when he saw Kat.

“Good morn. 'Tis a lovely day, lassie. Are ye and your sisters wanting to go for a ride?”

“No. I only wanted to pet the horses. May I brush him for you, John?”

“Och, nae this one, lassie. An Diobhail is too much horse for ye.”

“He's Fagan's mount, is he not?” asked Grace.

“Aye, m'lady.” John dropped the brush and turned to Kat. “Wait here, lassie. I have a mount just for ye.” He disappeared into the stable and returned a few moments later with the same quiet mare that Kat had ridden to the beach. He tied off the animal away from An Diobhail, picked up the brush, and led Kat and Elizabeth over to the horse. As John showed her sisters the proper way to brush the horse, a warm voice spoke by Grace's ear.

“Ye wouldnae be taking An Diobhail for a ride now, would ye?”

“Of course not. Kat wanted to brush him.”

“Do your best with him, Lady Katherine. He's a fine horse.”

“I will, Fagan.”

Grace lifted a brow. “I was wondering where you've been. You haven't been stalking me today.”

His eyes darkened. “Miss me, Grace?”

She didn't want to answer his question for more reasons than she could count and was thankful when Elizabeth interrupted the conversation at the perfect time. Her sister was proving herself very useful today.

“Perhaps we can all go for a ride. I—” Elizabeth stopped in mid-sentence, and a soft gasp escaped her.

When the sound of pounding hooves entered the bailey, Grace and Fagan turned around. Fagan shook his head, and Grace spoke under her breath.

“Bloody hell.”

“Aye.”

Ruairi's redheaded neighbor stood disheveled in the bailey with a score of men.

* * *

“Ian, 'tis good to see ye.” His long, red hair was blown awry, and his tunic was half pulled out of his kilt. Munro had been known to frighten men on the battlefield by his fierce looks alone. What Elizabeth saw in this man was beyond Fagan's comprehension.

“Where is your laird? Do ye think ye can pull him away from his bonny bride long enough to speak with me?”

Fagan was about to respond, but Elizabeth walked up beside him. Her voice was light and airy.

“Laird Munro, how wonderful to see you again. Did you have a pleasant journey?”

“And 'tis a pleasure to see ye as well, Lady Elizabeth. Aye, 'tis a fine day. Our journey was marked with nay noteworthy incidents, which is how I like it.” When his smile matched hers in liveliness, Fagan heard a loud sigh and assumed the sound came from Grace.

“Grace, why donna ye see to your sisters? I'll take Ian to Ruairi's study.”

Somehow he knew by the look on Grace's face that she was going to do everything in her power to make certain Elizabeth was cured of this ailment she had for Ian, one way or another. While she took care of Elizabeth, perhaps Grace could do something to help treat him too, Fagan thought. They entered the great hall just as Ruairi placed his boot on the foot of the stairs.

“Ruairi,” said Fagan.

Ruairi turned, and his eyes lit up in surprise. “Ian, what the hell are ye doing here?”

“'Tis good to see ye. I hope I'm nae keeping ye away from anything of importance.” Ian gave Ruairi a knowing grin. “Speaking of which, where is your bonny lass?”

“She's with Torquil.”

“Aye, well, I can enjoy the company of kin when we've finished having a wee chat.”

As soon as the men set foot inside Ruairi's study, Fagan closed the door, and Ruairi pulled out the ale. He placed three tankards on his desk and filled them.

“I received your missives.”

Ruairi handed each of them a tankard and sat in the chair behind his desk. “Aye. Damn mercenaries. The bastard who chased Grace on the beach told the lass he wanted her, but we donna know if his words were only to frighten her or if he had another purpose in mind.” He tapped his finger on the rim of his cup. “Have ye seen these men?”

Ian took a drink and placed his tankard down on the desk. “'Tis why I am here. After I received word from ye, I placed more of my guard at the border. Ye can ne'er be too cautious. My men saw five of these bastards for hire making their way south, and my men tracked them to the English border. I'm nae sure what they wanted, but I say let the bloody English have at them.”

Uncertainty crept into Ruairi's expression. “We must nae overlook the fact that these mercenaries always have a purpose and might've been sent by Robert Stewart in retaliation for the Gordon and Orkney, but 'tis my hope this is the end of it.”

Fagan cleared his throat. “I donna know if ye both are in agreement with this, but I donna believe Stewart's hand can reach this far into the Highlands while he's imprisoned. And even if he could, our numbers are too great.”

“I agree with ye, but I'm nae yet lowering my guard. I suggest ye do the same, Ian,” said Ruairi.

Munro took another drink and sighed. “I grow tired of men like Stewart, and why cannae the bloody English leave us be?
Tha
mi
duilich
. I didnae mean your wife and her sisters.”
I'm sorry.

Ruairi waved him off. “One would think that since Ravenna is now my wife, and Lord Mildmay has the king's ear, this would all be behind us. Naught is for certain anymore. At least your men saw the bastards cross the border.” He gave Fagan a quick nod. “And ye should now have a clear path to escort Grace home within a sennight. Mayhap take a few more of your best men with ye to be safe.”

Ian's eyes widened, and then he threw back his head and let out great peals of laughter. Fagan didn't notice that he had clenched his mouth tighter in response to Ian's merriment. He was glad his friend found Ruairi's words so amusing.

“What are ye laughing at, ye bastard?”

Ian took another drink from his tankard and then choked out his words. “And who is going to protect Fagan from Lady Grace?”

“My wife asked me the same.”

Fagan shook his head with disgust.
“Thoir an aire.
I should run ye both through for opening your mouths again.”
Be
careful.

“Och, donna be cross with us. Ye know 'tisnae too often we find a Highlander, let alone a Highland captain, being bested by a lass, and an English lass at that. As of late, we need to have a good laugh, eh?” Ian gave Fagan a mock salute.

“I'm happy that I could provide ye both with enjoyment, but
tha
sin
gu
leòr
.”
That
is
enough.
He leaned toward Ian, placing his elbows on his thighs. “And while we're on the subject of the lasses, let me be the first to offer ye a piece of advice. If ye donna want to find
your
eye blackened, I suggest ye stay far away from Lady Elizabeth.”

“Fagan,” warned Ruairi.

“My apologies. Was I nae to open my mouth, my laird?”

“Lady Elizabeth? Why would I stay away from her? What are ye talking about?”

Fagan sat back in the chair and lifted a brow. He couldn't help but turn up his smile a notch. He found even more pleasure when his laird sighed and cast a look of death upon him. Fagan knew that Ruairi would make him suffer for his words, but for now, he'd sit back and revel in the moment.

“I wasnae going to say anything, but my wife told me that Elizabeth seems to have taken a sudden fancy to ye.”

Ian placed his hand over his heart, and his voice went up a notch. “Me? What in the hell would she want with the likes of me? Ye do know that lasses run at the sight of me.” He hesitated. “Ye are both jesting with me.”

“I wish we were,” said Ruairi.

“How can that be? The only words I've ever spoken to her were in kind. She's a young lass. Why wouldnae she fancy someone her own age?”

Ruairi had a serious look on his face. “I donna know.”

“Mayhap she misses her father, eh?” Fagan bit down on his lower lip to stifle the laughter that wanted to escape his mouth.

A grim expression crossed Ian's face, and he shifted in the chair. “Let me make something clear to the both of ye.” He pointed to Ruairi. “Ye have Ravenna.” He threw his hand in the direction of Fagan. “And there isnae a more suited pair on this green earth who deserve each other more than ye and Lady Grace do.” He stuck his thumb to his chest. “But I donna want, nor do I need, a lass, let alone an
English
lass who fancies me.”

Ruairi tilted his head to the side. “Ye know? I said the same words before I wed my wife. Donna ye remember?”

Ian's eyes narrowed. “Donna make me wipe that smirk from your face, Sutherland. I donna want ye two meddling in my life. I'm sure Lady Elizabeth is a fine lassie, but clearly she has nay sense if she wants anything to do with the likes of me. Ye need to keep your brood here under your roof because I sure as hell donna want them crossing the border to my lands. Do ye understand? I have enough troubles with the Highland lairds. Who in their right mind would want to add English lasses in the mix?”

Fagan slapped Ian on the shoulder. “Grace and I have tried to deter Elizabeth, and 'tis more than likely a passing fancy. Donna worry upon it. She's only fifteen and has plenty of time to come to her senses. But whatever ye do, for God's sake, try nae to encourage the lass.”

“Ye donna need to lecture me on how to deter the lasses.” Ian gave a quick nod to Ruairi. “Mayhap ye should come to see me from now on. It seems like I take a chance every time I set foot on Sutherland lands. I'm afraid ye've been invaded by the English, my friend.”

Ruairi casually rested his arm on the desk, and a devilish look came into his eyes. “I just had a thought. Grace will be taking her leave with Fagan. Mayhap if ye take Elizabeth out of my hands, I'll only have my wife and wee Katherine under roof. Ye know ye could be willing to help out a friend for as much as I've helped ye.”

Ian took another drink of ale. “Aye, there is nay denying that ye've helped me with the crops and supplied me with men in the past on more than one occasion, but have ye nae learned anything? Women are like damn midges, naught but pests, and I'm afraid ye and your lands are sorely infested.”

* * *

After having to watch Elizabeth as she sat on the edge of her seat, hanging on every word Laird Munro said, Grace had had more than enough. She lingered longer than she should have in the hallway to the bedchambers only to make certain her besotted sister sought her bed and didn't do something foolish. When nothing out of the ordinary occurred, Grace said a silent prayer of thanks and relieved herself of guard duty. She walked to the parapet, needing to clear her head. The longer she stayed in Scotland, the more her thoughts became muddled, especially about her future.