Kilts and Daggers (20 page)

“Listen to me, my dear. When the king discovers I have slaughtered the mercenaries, I will be in his good graces. He will no longer confide in your uncle but in me. I will assume your uncle's position and quickly rise as one of His Majesty's most trusted men and advisors. Our future is secure. We will have wealth, power, anything you can imagine.”

“Greed…” Her voice went up a notch. “Well, I'm sure my uncle will have something to say about your scheming, Daniel. And just so I'm clear, let me make certain that I understand you correctly. The only reason you wish to wed me is because I'm Lord Mildmay's niece and you want to take his place. Do I have that about right then?”

He dismissed her question and gestured to the fallen men. “This is no place to have this conversation, and this is no place for my future wife to be. You'll come with me now.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I'm not leaving here without Fagan.”

“As my betrothed, you don't have a choice.” He grabbed her arm and started to pull her away.

“Release me at once.”

“Only when you come to your senses.”

“Daniel, I'm not leav—” When he tightened his grip, she cried out. “You're hurting me.”

He stopped and slapped her across her cheek with the back of his hand. “You don't know the meaning of the word.”

She lifted her hand to her face and couldn't stay her tongue. “You bastard! You're no better than the bloody mercenaries you've slaughtered here this day.”

He chuckled, and his eyes gave her a firm warning. “You will be grateful that I saved you, and you will heel in front of the king's men, my men.”

She snarled at him. “I will never marry you, and we are no longer betrothed. And I will
never
heel.”

His dark eyes sent a shiver down her spine. “You're too late, my lady. The banns have already been posted, and we will be wed upon your return to England.”

* * *

The stench of burning bodies hung in the air, and Fagan willed himself not to gag. Once Ruairi and his men saw the billowing smoke over the trees in the distance, they rode hard to reach Grace. To Fagan's dismay, the lass wasn't there. Although the rain had stopped, all that was left were bloodstains on the ground and a bonfire of men.

Ruairi's mount pranced beneath him. “I donna like this. I can understand Lord Mildmay warring with the mercenaries and setting them aflame, but where are Grace and her uncle? Why would they take their leave?”

Fagan gazed into the flames, and his heart sank. “Ye donna think…”

“They arenae in the fire.” Ruairi turned his mount and yelled to his men. “See if ye can find a trail.” He shook his head. “This makes nay sense. The only reason I can think Mildmay would take his leave is mayhap because he thought ye were dead, but my sister-by-marriage would've told him where ye were. Och, Fagan. Please tell me ye didnae do something foolish and she left ye for dead.”

“My laird! We found a man! He lives!”

Fagan and Ruairi galloped across the field to the tree line. Fagan dismounted, and pain shot through his leg. He grabbed the saddle for support as soon as his foot touched the ground. A man lay on the ground with a battle wound in his chest. He gazed up, and when he spotted Ruairi's kilt, he spat.

“We killed all your bloody friends. There is no one left.”

Ruairi knelt beside the injured man. “We arenae mercenaries. I am Laird Ruairi Sutherland. Ye are the king's man, are ye nae?”

“Yes,” said the man in a faint whisper.

“What happened here? Where are Lord Mildmay and his niece?”

The man could barely speak. “The mercenaries…did not yield. The last time…I saw the lady…she was safe…with Lord Casterbrook.”

Fagan couldn't help it. His voice went up a notch. “Casterbrook?”

When the man closed his eyes and drew his last breath, Ruairi stood. “Mayhap Casterbrook and Mildmay removed Grace from harm's way. I would've done the same for Ravenna. More than likely they circled around to aid ye and we missed them. Why donna we make our way back to the caves?”

“My laird! There is only one trail heading south.”

Fagan felt ice spreading through his veins. Grace had left him in the cave and fled with her bloody betrothed.

Grace gazed out at the Scottish thistle in the glade from her seat in the carriage and wished to plant Daniel among the weeds. She tried to understand how her situation had gone from bad to worse. Mercenaries had held her prisoner in a cave, and now she was being held against her will by Daniel, her “betrothed,” the man who was supposed to care for her. If this was his way of showing her affection, she'd hate to see how he behaved if he despised her.

Her cheek ached where Daniel had struck her, but the discomfort didn't even begin to compare with the misery she felt about Fagan. She prayed Ruairi had found him in time because she couldn't bear any other option. She couldn't believe this was the second time that she didn't know if he lived or died. She knew one thing for certain. There wouldn't be a third. She was going to take the first opportunity to make her escape.

The king's guard flanked her on all sides of the carriage, although at least Daniel wasn't in sight. But in addition to her impending war with Daniel, she had to admit that she was disgusted with herself. Some bloody spy she would've made. How could she not have known that her husband-to-be was not who she thought him to be? She refused to sit and do nothing. She lifted her hand and pounded hard on the roof of the carriage.

“Lord Casterbrook said we don't stop for anything, my lady,” yelled the coachman.

Grace kicked the seat in front of her several times in frustration. “And did Lord Casterbrook tell you that I can't even relieve myself? I
demand
that you stop this carriage at once, or I will jump! Do you hear me? Stop now!”

The man paid her no heed, so she swung open the door. She hung half her leg outside the carriage to make her point. She would've done more, but thankfully she didn't have to take the leap. The coach slowed, not that it was going at a great rate of speed anyway. As soon as the carriage came to a halt, Grace stepped down. The king's guard gazed at her as if she'd gone mad. Who knew? Perhaps she had.

“My lady, I would've assisted you,” said the coachman as he climbed down from his perch. His blond locks were windblown and a worried expression crossed his face as if he were a lad awaiting a firm scolding.

“You can assist me by doing as I ask,” she said, bristling. “Do you know who my uncle is?”

“Yes, my lady. Lord Mildmay.”

“Yes, that's right. And what do you think Lord Mildmay would say if you were holding his niece against her will?” As the man's eyes lit up and he couldn't find his tongue, Daniel approached on horseback.

“Is there something wrong, my dear?” His eyes sent her a private warning. “I should hope not, but if there is anything amiss, please let me know at once so that I can address your concerns.”

“You cannot expect me to ride this long without letting me stop and rest my legs, among other things, my lord. A lady has certain…needs she must see to. Besides, your men just fought in battle. I'm sure they're weary. There's no reason to make such haste back to England.”

Daniel gestured to a guard. “Let the men know we will rest here for a few moments.” He gazed back at Grace with a blank expression on his face, and then he spoke in a steely tone. “And then we will be on our way. We will not stop again until nightfall.”

She lifted her skirts and walked away from him toward the trees. Heavy footsteps thundered after her. She knew darned well Daniel was running to catch up with her, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of an acknowledgment. A hand clamped down on her shoulder and spun her around.

“Where do you think you're going?” asked Daniel.

“Unless you want to hold my skirts for me while I see to my personal needs, release me.”

He glanced around and then lowered his voice. “Grace, I don't want to quarrel with you. This is no way to start our marriage.”

“I agree with you.”

When his eyes softened, she realized Daniel didn't understand the meaning of the word “sarcasm.” She was about to let him know there wouldn't even be a start to their marriage when he spoke before she had the chance.

His voice was kind, gentle. “I'm glad to hear it, dearest. I knew you'd eventually see reason. When I heard the mercenaries held you, I was mad with worry. Please accept my apologies for my discretion, but I couldn't very well tell you that I worked for His Majesty. I know this must have come as quite a shock.” He lifted his hand and smoothed her hair. “But now that you know, you cannot mention this to anyone—not even your sister or Lord Mildmay. You could place me, us, in grave danger by telling someone. Do you understand?”

She hesitated, and her mind raced. She needed a moment to comprehend his words. Was it possible Daniel didn't know about Ravenna and Uncle Walter being spies? She closed her eyes and tried to remember if she ever mentioned her sister or uncle's involvement with the Crown. She didn't think she had. As if she needed any more evidence against him, Daniel's declaration was even further confirmation the man was an idiot. He had no idea who he was dealing with, because once Uncle Walter found out Daniel's intent to replace him as the king's trusted advisor, her betrothed's reputation would be destroyed. And why the man thought she would help him with this foolhardy endeavor was beyond her comprehension.

“Mmm… Then why would you even want to wed me if you're going to be placing me in harm's way?”

“I told you. You're Lord Mildmay's niece. I need you. And if you think hard enough, my dear, you will realize that the only men who have placed you in harm's way have been your sister's barbarian husband and that fool of a captain who escorted you home. Remember
I
was the one who saved you. I can protect you.”

She definitely had learned her lesson because if she'd had her dagger, she wouldn't have thrown it. She would've thrust the blade straight into her betrothed's tainted heart.

* * *

“We ride south,” said Ruairi. “Once we know that Grace is safe, we will return home. Ye need the healer to see to that wound, but I think 'tis clean enough for now. I donna think it will fester.” Fagan reached out and grabbed Ruairi's shoulder as he was reaching for the reins of his mount.

“Wait.” He glanced around to make certain no one overheard his words. “There is something I must tell ye.” When his friend hesitated, Fagan treaded lightly. “I donna think ye are going to like what I have to say, but ye must know before we take our leave.”

“Sput a-mach e.” Spit it out.

“Grace is to be my wife.”

Ruairi's eyes widened, and then he roared with laughter. He returned a brotherly slap to Fagan's shoulder. “Ye must be feeling much better after the new binding on your leg and some whisky in ye. How much have ye had to drink anyway? Come. We donna want them to get too far ahead of us.”

“Ruairi… I'm afraid I am nae jesting with ye, and I havenae had nearly enough to drink have this conversation with ye.”

“I donna have the patience for this right now. Let us see to Grace, and then we'll get ye home to the healer.” When Fagan didn't move and lowered his gaze to the ground, Ruairi let out a heavy sigh. “Tell me ye're jesting.” He glanced up at the sky as if he was asking for some kind of spiritual guidance and then squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “
Siuthad.” Go on.

“I know that's nae what ye wanted to hear, but I already told ye the truth.”

There was a heavy silence, and Ruairi's eyes darkened dangerously. A muscle ticked at his jaw. Fagan knew there was a raging storm brewing underneath the surface, but he wasn't quite ready to face the wrath of his friend, his liege. For the first time since he could remember, he felt like he needed to prepare himself for a thrashing that was sure to come. He was about to be judged, and he was guilty as hell.

“Did ye ruin her?”

And there it was. The question that would tear apart years of friendship, a brotherhood that had existed long before Grace and something that had been established before a certain English spy was ever sent to the Highlands. When Fagan didn't respond, Ruairi repeated his question.

“I asked ye a question and I will nae ask ye a second time.”

“Aye, but—”

A fist rammed into Fagan's jaw, knocking him hard to the ground. He let out a grunt, but his pride hurt more than the pain in his face or his leg. Ruairi glowered above him. Awkwardly, Fagan pulled himself to his feet as he eyed his friend. After a moment of silence, Ruairi's steely gaze met his, and rancor sharpened his voice.

“How could ye? I trusted ye. Grace was under my roof, my protection. Ye were
only
to escort her back to England and deliver her into the arms of Casterbrook. What part of ‘She is betrothed' did ye nae understand? What the hell were ye thinking? She is my wife's sister! Ye've placed me in a dire situation. She's to be wed to an English lord, and a Highland captain—
my
captain
—ruined her! How in the hell do I explain this disaster to her uncle? You know…her uncle who works for the king!”

Ruairi laughed in derision. “And how in the hell do I explain this to my
wife
? After Ravenna kills ye, she'll want to strangle me because I was the one who had insisted that ye be the one to escort Grace home—not Casterbrook or his men—because I was to see to her safety. I only trusted my own men to see to the task. Och, and ye saw to that verra well, didnae ye?” He took a deep breath. “How did this happen?”

When Fagan lifted a brow, Ruairi shook his head. “I know how that happened. I'm talking about ye and Grace. Ye couldnae even stand to be in the same room with one another.” Ruairi's face suddenly went grim.

“Donna even think it. I can see it in your eyes. Before ye say another word, ye know me better than that. I would ne'er force myself on a woman.”

Ruairi smirked. “I donna know what to believe anymore. I ne'er thought I'd have to worry about ye tupping my sister-in-law either.”

“I love her.”

Ruairi's eyes widened. “What?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Och, this keeps getting better and better. Where did ye put the damn whisky?”

Fagan handed Ruairi the flask, and he took a long swig. “And does she love ye?”

“Aye. We knew ye and Ravenna would be cross with us, but the lass agreed to be my wife. She was going to break the betrothal with Casterbrook when she returned to England.”

“I'm glad to see the two of ye thought this through. And just where, pray tell, were ye two going to live once ye wed?” Fagan gave him a wry grin. “Nay… Nay… Ye cannae do this to me. Four lasses? Four Walsingham sisters under my roof? Grace?
Beannaich
fèin, a Dhè nan gràs gach là agus gach tràth dha'm thoirt.
”
Bless, O God of grace, each day and hour of my life.
“Because I'm going to need it.” Ruairi paused, and his gaze was puzzled. “Ye say ye speak the truth, but there is still something I donna understand. If Grace agreed to be your wife, then why did she leave with her uncle and Casterbrook?”

“I donna know. That's what worries me. Grace would've come back for me. I am certain of it. I think there is something nae quite right about this.”

“Damn ye, Fagan. All these years, and ye had to choose my wife's betrothed sister. I told ye to
fuirich
air
falbh
on
teine
and ye jumped right in.”
Stay
away
from
the
fire
. “I want to make sure ye understand something. I am far from all right with the choices ye've made, but if the lass feels the same for ye and ye did take her innocence…” Ruairi scowled. “Oh, hell. Let's take our leave and save your future wife's arse.”

* * *

The men had stopped for the night, and Grace sat next to the fire. After spending the day in a damp dress, she felt a chill in the air and she didn't think it was from the weather. Daniel laughed with his men, making a toast to their success in overcoming the mercenaries. Her thoughts drifted to Fagan, and tears welled in her eyes. She'd had enough. She wanted Daniel out of her life. She needed Fagan by her side where he belonged. And she wanted to go home.

“Why so grim, my dear?” Daniel's eyes twinkled with amusement as he sat down beside her.

“It's been a long day.”

“Why yes, it has. You've had quite an adventure, if I do say so myself, but it's over and done. You have nothing else to fear.”

She almost said “you” but decided against it.

“Did you get something to eat and drink? Should you want for anything, all you need to do is ask.”

Again, she could've muttered “Release me” but thought it was in her best interest to remain silent. As Fagan would say, she'd possibly make matters worse by opening her mouth. She did the only thing that came to mind. She nodded.

“Your tent is there, my dear.” His eyes sent her a private message, and he lowered his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “I could always join you if you'd like.”

“Daniel, you know very well that is not appropriate. With all these men about, that type of scandalous behavior would spread through camp like wildfire. Would you honestly want your men talking about your betrothed in that manner? Frankly, I find your comments ill-mannered.”

“I'm sorry if my words offended you, my lady. That was not my intent. I was only jesting with you.”

Grace turned her head away from him and closed her eyes. At least she didn't have to worry about Daniel making any unwanted advances toward her. Thank God for small favors because she had more than enough troubles already.

She stood. “Pray excuse me.”

He reached out and grabbed her by the wrist. “Where are you going?”