Kilts and Daggers (22 page)

She spun on her heel and ran as fast as she could.

“Well, don't just stand there. Go and get her.”

Twigs snapped under her feet. Branches smacked her in the face. Her cheeks stung, her dress tore, and she didn't even notice. She could barely see in front of her, but she would run through the darkness to reach the light.

Without warning, she was pummeled to the ground with a heavy thump. She was trapped beneath a guard, struggling to get free. Fingers wound through her hair and pulled her to her feet. She tried to swing her arms around at the big brute to release her, but he wouldn't budge. She grabbed his hand, fumbling for his fingers and trying to make them let go.

As Daniel approached, he waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. The guard finally released his hold, but not before he pulled her hair one last time. Grace couldn't help herself. She shot the man a cold smile and kicked him in the shin with her boot. The guard took a menacing step toward her, but Daniel held up his hand to stay his man.

“Now that is no way to treat my betrothed. Let me help you.”

Grace gasped when Daniel closed the distance between them and balled his fist into her face. He struck her so hard that he knocked her to the ground. He proceeded to kick her once with his booted foot on the side of her ribs, and she cried out in pain. With all her strength, she held her sore ribs and pulled herself to her feet. Her eyes met Daniel's and she dared not look away. Instead, she couldn't control her burst of laughter. The guards and her betrothed gazed at her as if she'd gone mad.

“And just what do you find so amusing, my dear?”

“Angus is going to tear you to shreds, and Fagan's going to kill you. I shall take great pleasure in watching you die.”

Daniel paled when a primal growl pierced the darkness.

Casterbrook spun around and pulled a dagger from the scabbard at his waist. When he spotted Angus with teeth bared and Sutherland men walking out of the trees and disarming the king's guard, he wrapped his arm around Grace. He placed the blade at her throat, and his eyes darted back and forth between the men. He looked like a caged animal, and that's what frightened Fagan the most.

“Hiding behind my skirts, Daniel? You bloody coward!”

He tightened his grip. “Shut your mouth, dearest! I need to think!”

Fagan stepped from the shadows. “Ye only need to know one thing for certain. Ye're going to die.” He gazed at Grace through the darkness, not that he could see her very well. “How are you,
bhana-phrionnsa
?”

“I've certainly had better days.”

In the distance, Ruairi and Mildmay made their way behind Casterbrook while Angus stood firm. Two Sutherland guards lit torches and stopped when they reached the edge of the king's guard. They had Casterbrook encircled, and there was nowhere for the bastard to turn.

Mildmay's voice echoed through the darkness. “I never thought you a fool, Casterbrook, but you've made several grave errors in judgment. You harmed one of my own. You are not worthy of my niece's hand in marriage. And I especially have no idea what in the hell you were thinking with this nonsense about taking my place as the king's advisor.” He laughed. “As if you could… You see, I've been in service to the Crown—Queen Elizabeth and then King James's realm—for a very long time. More than likely while you were still a babe suckling your mother's breast.”

Casterbrook looked over his shoulder and shifted his weight.

“Let her go,” said Fagan. “Naught good is going to come from this. One way or another, ye're going to die.”

Casterbrook whipped his head around. “I don't take orders from a bloody Highlander. Stay back, and don't come any closer! I swear I'll kill her! I've nothing to lose! I said, stay back!” Ruairi and Mildmay stopped, but the men were still several yards away.

Grace closed her eyes as a trickle of blood dripped down her neck. Fagan could hear his own blood pounding in his ears. He needed Casterbrook to release her so he could send the Englishman to his maker, but the man continued to hold Grace against him like a shield. Fagan was not willing to take a chance that she would be hurt.

Angus let out another throaty growl, and a look of panic crossed Casterbrook's face. His eyes darted back and forth between Fagan and Angus as if he were deciding which one of the two would kill him first. Casterbrook took a step forward, moving Grace closer to the animal. She was right. The coward was hiding behind her skirts.

To Fagan's surprise, Grace used the wolf as a distraction and bit Casterbrook on the hand. The man cried out in pain and the blade dropped to the ground. Ruairi and Mildmay charged from behind as Grace fell to her knees, fumbling for the dagger.

Fagan unsheathed his sword and ran toward her. “Nay, Grace! For God's sake, do what ye do best!”

When she realized what he'd meant, she stood and placed her boot over the blade. Casterbrook made another attempt to subdue her, but she balled her hand into a fist and rammed it straight into his eye. Fagan was there in seconds and pushed Grace out of harm's way. He thrust his sword into Casterbrook's gut. As he stepped back with the hilt of the sword still in his hand, he lowered his gaze, and his jaw dropped. Another blade came through the man's stomach and missed Fagan by a mere inch. He glanced over Casterbrook's shoulder, and his eyes met Mildmay's.

Only when Ruairi slapped him on the shoulder did Fagan dare pull his weapon from the belly of the beast. He needed to be sure Casterbrook was dead so that no harm would ever again befall Grace. At that moment, he silently swore an oath that he would protect her until he drew his last breath. She was his, and he was hers. As Casterbrook fell to the ground, Mildmay pulled out his sword and stabbed his blade into the grass. He pulled Grace into the circle of his arms.

“My dear, dear niece. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I'm so happy to see you, and I'm so thankful you came when you did.”

Mildmay pulled back and lowered his voice. “Now
that
is what it takes to be a spy for the Crown. I hope you have enough sense—”

“Don't worry, Uncle Walter. I've learned my lesson. You may be rest assured that I've had enough adventure to last a lifetime. I don't want to have anything to do with king and country or bloody mercenaries, and you and my sister can keep your spy craft to yourselves.”

Not entirely certain how to broach the subject to Mildmay, Fagan lowered his gaze to the ground. To his surprise, a warm body pressed against his, and Grace threw her arms around him.

“Oh, Fagan. I'm so glad you—”

He placed his finger over her lips. “Shhh… I'm here now. 'Tis over.” He ran his thumb over her cheek, and her expression was pained. “What's the matter?”

She brought her fingers to her eye. “I'm sore where Daniel—”

A muscle ticked at his jaw, and he wiped the blood from her neck with his thumb. “Nay one will ever touch ye that way again. I give ye my word.”

Grace buried her head in his chest. “I just want to go home.”

“It's too dark to travel now, Grace. We'll make camp here for this evening, and then I'll see you safely home on the morrow,” said Mildmay.

She grabbed Fagan by the hand and pulled him over to her uncle. “Uncle Walter, might I have a word with you?”

Mildmay looked down at their hands. “Mister Murray, is there something you wish to tell me—like when the bloody hell did this happen?”

As the king's guard lifted Casterbrook away, Fagan noticed Ruairi watching them. He gave Fagan a nod of encouragement. Fagan straightened his spine and met Mildmay's eyes, refusing to falter. “I love her. I know that I donna have much to offer the lass, but I give her my heart. In truth, I cannae imagine my life without her—”

“
Grace?
We are speaking of the same woman?”

“Uncle Walter!”

Mildmay shook his head. “I thought you didn't like Highlanders.”

“I still don't, but I love this one. I know this makes no sense, especially after the things I've done and said, but it's true. I love Fagan, Uncle Walter. Please give us your blessing.”

“And if I didn't, you wouldn't listen to me anyway. You must know that I gave my word to your father that I would look after you girls.”

“Ye are a man of honor, and I respect ye for that. I hope ye think the same of me, for I wish Grace to be my wife. I'd give her anything. I'd give my life for hers.”

Mildmay rolled his eyes. “Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that.” He gazed around at the men. “Where is Sutherland?”

Ruairi walked toward them. “Here…”

“Laird Sutherland, did you know about this?”

“Nae until verra recently.”

“I must ask you if you're ready to have the captain of your guard take a wife.”

“Uncle Walter, what difference does that make? Ruairi has known Fagan for years.”

“Perhaps the better question, Laird Sutherland, is to ask you if you're ready to have the captain of your guard wed my niece?”

Her eyes sparkled. “And just what do you mean by that?”

Fagan cleared his throat. He lowered his lips to hers, but not before he heard Ruairi mumble to Mildmay, “Ye do realize that I'll have all your nieces under my roof, including Grace.”

“And I'd like to think you're up for the challenge. Good luck, Sutherland.”

* * *

Kilts, daggers, and not a single man in the throes of battle—that's what Grace reveled in as she stood in the great hall of her brother-in-law's home. The kilts and daggers belonged to the Sutherland clan, but unlike her sister, Grace had made Ruairi take down those dreaded tapestries before her wedding day.

When her eyes met her husband's, her heart hammered in her chest. Although she'd believed Scottish men were nothing but a bunch of Highland barbarians, they weren't any worse than their English counterparts. Fagan caught her staring, and his eyes twinkled. The man made her feel like he always knew her thoughts, and she loved that about him.

“The ceremony was beautiful. You look lovely, Grace. The blue gown is a beautiful color on you.”

“Thank you, Ravenna. I'm aware that you had a lot to do with the removal of the tapestries, and for that, I'm grateful.”

“Yes, and you do know that Ruairi demanded I put them all back in their rightful places when the wedding is over.”

Grace bumped her sister in the arm. “We'll see about that. Now that they're down, and there are four of us…”

“Please don't push him too far. You know that he'll—”

“What are ye doing now, Wife?”

Grace shrugged. “Nothing.”

“I'll leave you two alone.”

“Fagan, I'm weary. It's getting late. Is there any chance that we can perhaps escape this madness and go to bed now?”

“This is our wedding day. Ye really want to take your leave and go to sleep?”

“I didn't say that I wanted to sleep. I said that I wanted to go to bed.” She gave him a knowing look and laughed when his eyes darkened. She leaned in closer. “Ever since we've told our families that we're to be wed, my uncle, your laird, and my sisters have kept us separated for weeks. Perhaps they were waiting for us to come to our senses, but I think it's been long enough, don't you? In truth, if I don't touch you again soon, I'm going to lose my mind.”

He turned on his heel. “I'll make our excuses and be right back.”

She gazed around the great hall at her new family. Ruairi cast Ravenna a warm smile from across the room. Torquil was drawing another picture for Kat at the table, and as of this moment, there hadn't been any more fighting between them. And Elizabeth?

Grace glanced around the room. Oh yes. Elizabeth had a flush on her cheeks as she wrung her hands in front of her, sitting across the table from Laird Munro and hanging on to every word the man said. From the look on the laird's face, he was in desperate need of rescue and wanted no part of Elizabeth. Grace supposed he was a grown man and could handle his own troubles because Fagan was making his way toward her and nothing else mattered.

“Take my hand. Keep your head down. Donna look at anyone. We make our escape.”

She hastily followed her husband to their new chamber, and when the door closed, she sighed. The room was grand and much larger than her bedchamber in the manor house. It had a stone fireplace that took up the center wall, a small sitting area, and a large wooden bed with tall corner posts. Candles were lit throughout the chamber, and flowers lay on the golden coverlet. Grace smiled at her sister's efforts. She'd be sure to thank Ravenna again later.

Fagan picked up one of the stems from the bed and turned. Grace could not speak as she gazed into her husband's eyes, loving this side of him—the kindness, the desire, the passion. This was the man she had grown so fond of and who had captured her heart. She threw herself into Fagan's arms and brought his lips down to hers. Her calm was shattered by the hunger of his kisses. His firm mouth demanded a response, one that she was more than willing to give.

His lips seared a path down her neck, her shoulder. She laced her fingers in his hair, pulling him close. His gentle touch sent currents of desire through her.

“Mmm… It's been far too long.”

He whispered into her hair. “Aye, that it has. Do ye remember how 'tis done, or mayhap ye need me to remind ye, eh?”

She felt the thrill of her husband's arousal as he dropped his kilt to the floor and pressed against her. When he moved his thigh between her legs, the glorious heat nearly caused her knees to buckle.

“Oh, Fagan.”

As if he sensed her impending need, he bent down and swept her from her feet, weightless, into his arms. She lifted her hand to his cheek in a gentle gesture, and for a moment, he stood there, holding her and gazing into her eyes.

“A ghràidh.”

“Now what name are you calling me?”

He chuckled. “I donna want to call ye
bhana-phrionnsa
. I find the name doesnae suit ye any longer. Ye are my wife, and ye need to understand those two Gaelic words from now on because ye will be hearing them from me verra often.
A
ghràidh
means ‘my love.' Something ye have been since the first time ye blackened my eye.”

He carried her and gently eased her down upon the bed. With a fist, he pulled off his tunic and tossed it to the floor. His body covered hers and he ran his exploring fingers over her curves. Her skin tingled when he touched her, shivers of delight sliding sensuously up her arm.

She placed her hand on his rock-hard chest and brushed the tawny hairs. His gaze slowly dropped from her eyes to her shoulders to her breasts. Her gown crept up to her thighs as she moved closer to him. He pulled the fabric upward over her belly, her chest. He lowered his head and his tongue caressed her sensitive nipples, her breasts surging at the familiarity of his touch. His tongue continued to tantalize the buds, which had swollen to their fullest.

When his strong hand seared a path down her abdomen and to her inner leg, she thought she would come undone. He explored her thighs slowly and then moved up. His lips again teased a taut, dusky pink nipple.

He paused to kiss her, whispering his love for each part of her body. The stroking of his fingers sent pleasure jolts through her. Completely aroused now, she drew herself closer to him.

He paused and his body moved partially to uncover hers. “I want to see all of ye.”

She wiggled her way out of the delicate gown and let it fall to the floor. She moaned softly as he laid her back down. It was flesh against flesh, man against woman. Her breasts tingled against his hard chest.