The Bold Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) (17 page)

Merry was relieved to see her go.

“A foul-tempered beastie is what she is,” Alec muttered under his breath.

Merry frowned thoughtfully. She hadn’t really concerned herself with beauty before, but now that she thought on it, Iona did possess the creamy skin, blue eyes, and flaming red hair that many a man desired. 
And she was a lady. She was small of stature, her hands were soft, and she moved with a delicate grace that Merry could not even hope to mimic, not when she’d spent her entire life riding across the moors on the back of a horse.

Merry glanced down at her rider’s hands and grimaced. Aye, she was too tall, too strong-featured, to lay claim to beauty.

Turning back to Alec, she saw his wide grin in the dim candlelight, and with a shake of her head, murmured, “She’s bonny, a fitting wife for an earl.”

Alec choked. “Bonny?” he asked, his eyes wide with shock. “Are ye daft?”

Merry frowned at him. “You’re a man,” she growled. “What would ye know of such things?”

A merry glint entered Alec’s green eyes. “More than ye ever could, ye wee fool,” he answered with a wink, and then all trace of laughter fled his face, and his mood soured swiftly. “A sorry wretch is what I’m destined to be, I fear. I’ll live the remainder of my days pining for love and destined to be left wanting …” His words trailed off, and he fell silent.

But Merry was no longer listening. 
Sitting down at the table, she lay her head down upon her arms and closed her burning eyes. 
It seemed so long ago that she’d thought to cut her hair and set out on this grand adventure, masquerading as a lad.

But she was weary of it now.

She missed Skye. She missed the grandeur and beauty of the moors, the gulls riding the wind over the sea-stacked rocks of the MacLeod’s Maidens, and the crisp air filled with the tang of the sea. Soon, the selkies would be barking on the shell-covered beaches.

She had thought to have an adventure. 
She hadn’t expected such sorrow. Her heart swelled with sadness over Lothar’s suffering. And Ewan’s too. Aye, she felt sorrow for Ewan’s haunted dreams.

But he should have warned her that he was betrothed. 
It was like an arrow to her heart. That is, if she still had one. At the moment, there was naught but an aching, empty spot where her heart had been.

A deep loneliness swept over her as weariness descended upon her.

Sleep came then, but it was a restless sleep, filled with images of Ewan and Iona, their legs entwined, sharing long, breathless nights. 
And when the dawn arrived, she welcomed the rough shake of her shoulder and looked up into Alec’s emerald eyes in relief.

“Let’s wash afore the others, aye?” he suggested with a grin.

Rising to her feet, Merry stretched and glanced around the great hall. The place looked just as gloomy in the daylight as it had at night.

Alec led her to the kitchens, and even though the door was open to let in the morning sun, the place seemed dank and dark, nothing like Dunvegan’s neatly scrubbed kitchens with their vaulted ceilings and jolly atmosphere. 
Here, the tables were cluttered with unwashed pots and trenchers bearing half-eaten food from the day before. Several scullery maids sat in a circle, plucking chickens. The white feathers flurried about Merry’s feet like snowflakes as she passed by.

A lad stood by the hearth, ladling hot water into a bucket from a large cauldron boiling over the fire. Looking up as they approached, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder to a half-filled barrel in the corner. A table stood next to it with a linen towel, a bar of tallow soap, and an ox-horn comb tossed upon its surface. Above it, a shelf held a razor and a small polished silver mirror.

An empty wooden bathing tub had been shoved under the table, and Merry eyed it wistfully. There would be no bath for her. Not if she must play the part of a lad. She inspected her hands, observing the dirt embedded under her nails.

Alec seemed to read her mind. “Ye can wash your face, at least,” he said with a warm smile.

Kneeling, they took turns plunging their arms into the barrel, washing not only their faces but their arms, shoulders, and hair as well. 
It was invigorating, refreshing, and by the time she’d finished, she felt alert once again.

Rising to her feet, she briskly dried her hair and was combing through the wet, snarled mess when she noticed Alec’s eyes locked over her shoulder. 
Following his gaze, she saw Ewan framed in the door, backlit by the morning sun.

He looked haggard, his skin was pale and lines of strain were apparent between his brows. He’d changed into a long bleached linen shirt that hung loosely over breeches that fit snugly over his sinewy thighs. 
The clothes were flattering, calling attention to his hard muscled body, the body of a warrior.

With a dreamy sigh, she wondered what it would be like to slide her hand under his shirt and run her fingers along the ridges of his stomach. 
And then the comb snagged in her hair, and suddenly aware of her thoughts, Merry quickly averted her gaze and turned away.

She was ashamed. 
Ewan was betrothed, and he’d never given her reason to hope. 
It was her own foolishness that had allowed herself to become attracted to him. Nay, if she were honest, she’d admit that her own foolishness had let herself fall in
love
with him.

And then she saw that he’d joined them by the barrel. 
In silence, he pulled his blond hair back into a ponytail and helped himself to the large bar of soft, yellow soap.

“Lothar?” Alec asked, offering him the razor and pointing to the mirror.

“He’s sleeping,” Ewan replied, working the soap into a lather. “He has a fever, but not a treacherous one. We can only pray ‘twill stay that way.”

“Then, that is well,” Alec replied.

Ewan agreed with a grim nod. “He’s a braw man. He’ll live.”

Merry said nothing. Stepping back, she watched from under her lashes as he took up the sharp razor and skimmed the blade skillfully over his jaw, contorting his face to shave his upper lip.

She swallowed another sigh.

Everything about the man was a distraction, from his broad shoulders to the lithe line of his thigh.

And then the familiar scent of lavender and roses wafted through the air and glancing over, Merry saw Iona standing a mere arm’s length away.

Her eyes were locked on Merry, and for a brief moment, her face was unguarded, and the distaste, the disdain, was easy to see. 
Clearly, the woman didn’t like her. She’d like her even less should she discover Merry’s true gender.

But then Iona pushed by her and stepping up to Ewan, ran a hand over his shoulder as if to brush off the lint. It was an overtly possessive gesture.

Ewan moved back at once and raised a brow in a cool but polite inquiry.

“The clothing fits ye well, my lord,” Iona said with a bright smile.

He just stood there, looking down at her with his blue eyes narrowing.

The silence stretched, becoming awkward.

And then Iona cleared her throat. “I have tidings, my lord,” she said.

Ewan frowned. “They are?” he asked crisply.

“My father will return to Hermitage at the week’s end.” All at once, she seemed a little hesitant, unsure.

“Then, that is well,” Ewan replied and returned to his shaving.

“Aye, ‘tis time we settled the matter,” Iona practically purred. She let her gaze trail down the length of Ewan’s body.

“Aye,” Ewan agreed readily enough.

She appeared to like that response. In fact, she looked quite giddy. With a fluttering of her lashes, she curtsied and quickly exited the kitchen but not before sending a scornful smile Merry’s way.

Merry grimaced. As bonny as Iona was, it was clear she was a two-faced woman. Merry could only shake her head. No doubt, Ewan was blinded by her beauty.

“A giant fool I never took ye for, Ewan,” she murmured under her breath.

“Fool?”

Merry jerked, surprised she’d said the words aloud. From the corner of her eye, she saw him peering down at her curiously. 
He stood close, smelling of soap and leather. It was fair difficult to think clearly. But pretending to possess a calm she didn't feel, she masked her feelings and finally replied, “I wish to congratulate ye, Ewan. Iona will make ye a fine bride.”

Ewan’s brow lifted, startled. He stood there a moment, as if grappling for words, but then with a frustrated breath, slammed his fist against the wall. Turning on his heel, he then left the kitchen without a word.

“Then ye know,” Alec’s voice said from behind her.

Merry didn’t reply.

Reaching over, he patted her on the head as if she were a wee lassie. “Dinna judge him too harshly, lass. ‘Tis a complicated matter. He’s a man sealed within himself. At times, he’s not easy to know.”

“I’m sure ‘tis a strong match,” Merry grated.

“The mere thought of it turns my stomach foul—” Alec began.

But Merry couldn’t hear anymore. “I dinna wish to speak now,” she said gruffly, refusing to meet his eyes. “I must tend to Diabhul.”

She ran out of the kitchens then and made her way to the stables. The lads there were quite relieved to give over Diabhul’s care and showed Merry his stall at once.

Relaxing, Merry ran her hand along the black stallion’s back and settled down to groom his coat to a sheen and to braid his mane and tail. 
As usual, Diabhul’s company soothed her, giving her the peace to collect her thoughts.

It was time she returned home.

Mayhap she should send Ruan a letter first. It might defuse his anger—or give him ample time to nurture it. She wasn’t entirely sure what his reaction would be.

She
had
succeeded in rescuing Ewan, even though he’d run straight into the arms of another woman.

With a frown, she picked up Diabhul’s large hoof and brushed it clean.

Channeling her thoughts back to Ruan, she wondered how long his wrath would last. Would he understand she’d felt a life-debt? Most likely, he’d be so relieved to find her safe that he’d speak only a few harsh words.

Aye, she needed to return home. 
Where she wouldn’t see Ewan again.

The thought was depressing—as was the frequency with which Ewan intruded upon her thoughts. The man had grown on her. 
Knowing Iona would be seeing him daily did not help matters either. And not just seeing him—but being in his arms.

“Ho, there, Moridac!” Alec’s cheerful voice intruded upon her solitude.

Merry straightened to find Alec sprawling comfortably against the stall as if he’d been there for some time.

She frowned.

“That scowl ‘tis a fine greeting,” he said with a chuckle. And then he held out his hand. “’Tis time for the midday feast. I’m fair starving, and ye look as if ye could use a good meal.”

“I’d rather have a mug of ale and a trencher of salted fish here,” she said, pointing to the pile of straw in the corner of Diabhul’s stall.

Alec’s keen eyes narrowed. He watched her a few moments before saying softly, “Ewan may surprise ye yet.”

Merry’s frown deepened. Ewan had surprised her already. Horribly. She wasn’t certain she cared for another such surprise. “In what way?” she asked sourly.

He hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something, but finally thinking better of it, settled for shrugging his shoulders. “’Tis not for me to say, but come and keep me company at least. Am I not worthy of some kindness?”

There was seriousness in his tone that drew Merry’s gaze, and she tensed at the look in his eye. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw desire, but with his next words, she was certain she was wrong.

“Come now,” he insisted with a wink, still holding his hand out. “There’s a bonny green-eyed lass I’ve my eye on. Dinna keep me waiting.”

Taking a deep breath, Merry nodded, but with a marked air of reluctance, followed him back to the castle.

Hermitage Castle’s great hall was a hive of activity, but even in the broad light of day, the place was still depressingly gloomy.

A rather anemic looking lad sat by the fire with a lute in his hands, but he wasn’t playing a tune. Instead, he stared unblinkingly, allowing his fingers to idly drift over the strings.

Pushing through the crowd, Merry spied Ewan at the high table, sitting in an ornately carved chair with Iona at his side. 
He was handsome. Rugged. Radiating power and vitality. His voluminous white shirt was open at the neck, and his flaxen hair was loose, falling about his shoulders in a way that made her want to run her fingers through it.

Clenching her jaw, Merry shifted her gaze to Iona. 
Alec was gravely mistaken. How could anyone doubt Iona’s beauty? 
Clad in a fine white dress trimmed with gold-colored braid, she’d swept her flaming hair into a pearled net. A ruby hung about her neck, glittering on the swell of her bosom, and as she moved, the jewel caught the light of the candlelight.

When they reached the high table, Merry automatically dipped into a curtsey of greeting, but she’d scarcely begun before Alec caught her elbow with a quick laugh.

“Ye can pick it up later, lad,” he said, pulling her upright.

Realizing her error, Merry switched into a hasty, awkward bow and gritted her teeth. She was weary of playing the part of a lad, a part she played poorly.

The expression in Ewan’s eyes revealed that he hadn’t missed her mistake.

Iona’s face appeared as if it were carved of ice. There was no way to know what the woman thought other than the obvious fact that she wasn’t particularly pleased to see Merry standing before her.

“Ye must make room for Moridac at your table, cousin,” Alec said then. “The lad saved our lives. If not for him, we’d all be hanging in Hairibee now, most likely even Ewan.”

“My uncle would never have allowed it,” Iona disagreed, marring her perfect features with a frown.

“Make room,” Ewan ordered, settling back into his chair to idly twirl the stem of his goblet betwixt his fingers.